


how rare and beautiful it is to even exist (life carries on endlessly)

by fluffynarwhal



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Stages of Grief, Found Family, Friendship, Hallucinations, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, grab tissues kids, im very sorry, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffynarwhal/pseuds/fluffynarwhal
Summary: “Life carries on endlessly, regardless of wants or needs. But it’s a rare and beautiful thing to even exist - to have existed with you.”
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	how rare and beautiful it is to even exist (life carries on endlessly)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: the death included is not explicitly detailed. The topic is vaguely mentioned but it isn't detailed. If you'd like to know what happens so you can avoid this fic in case it's triggering, please send me a message on my twitter - fluffynarwhall 
> 
> I tried to keep this as close to real life experiences so it would make more sense. I took my own first-hand experiences, along with what I've seen from an outsider's point of view. Grieving isn't ever easy, and it's different for everyone. 
> 
> I listened to a lot of Sleeping at Last while writing this, so I suggest having a look at a certain playlist I made. Listen in order just so you can get a feel for the way I felt when writing. 
> 
> The song Saturn is what made this fic happen, and the title is from that song. 
> 
> Playlist: [Life Carries on Endlessly Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3wL4Z8tjDRv3zTBqc3tY3n?si=qZIOQ85nRR-67SXhhyYoDQ)

  1. **Denial - the first 6 months**



There are days. 

There are good days when Suga climbs out of bed, brushes his teeth, showers, changes clothes, and manages to nibble on a few crackers after a run with Tanaka; Oikawa stops by to bring him the new notes for team updates and keep him in the loop about general goings-on within the volleyball world; he talks to Tobio and Shouyou on the phone, their son chattering in the background happily; he changes his bedsheets and does a small load of laundry; he refrains from taking a healthy sip of the whiskey that sits in the kitchen cabinet before he goes to bed. 

There are bad days when Suga doesn’t get out of bed at all; he has to force himself to drink a glass of water with a single bite from a piece of bread; his phone, which sits on the bedside table, dings with texts and calls, but Suga turns his phone off and tosses it across the room; no one comes by his home; the blackout curtains stay shut to expel the beams of sunlight; he feels himself break just a bit more. 

Because of his childhood and teenage years, Suga has learned how to compartmentalise his emotions to keep them in a safely boarded up room in his heart. The room stays locked with a six-digit keypad, and the password is changed every single day - sometimes twice a day. He keeps it bereft of pictures of colour, just so he doesn’t linger. There’s a small, raggedy stuffed dog that sits in the corner, staring lifelessly at the door, with a thick, black marker sitting beside it. 

The only markings on the walls are dates, times, and memories that Suga has written within the room: the day his mother died; the day he woke up a different person because of her death; the day he almost punched Tanaka for some stupid reason; the look on his father’s face when he left Miyagi; the day he realised his anger was dangerous; the type of American candy he liked best; the moment he knew he had fallen in love; the movie name and drink flavor from his first date; the dates for when he both got engaged and married; the wave of happiness that steamrolled him when Shouyou and Tobio brought home their son, Ezume; the first time he thought about having children of his own; the date and time that his world was upheaved and demolished. 

He keeps these reminders - writing them once and forgetting them. He knows they’re there. He knows he has to move forward, so he writes down the date, caps his marker, and locks the door, changing the password again. 

It’s meticulous. It’s tedious - but Suga doesn’t know how to stop. 

He’s not sure he wants to. 

The thing is, during the bad days, Suga gulps in the faint smell of memories long forgotten, chews them up, and spits them back out with tears that blind him and streak heavy, molten tracks down the sides of his cheeks. His ribs creak and ache with the force of those memories, but the feeling of pain is better than feeling nothing at all. His fingernails seem to shred each and every second that crawls by him, leaving nothing but the weighty feeling of anguish in their wake. 

On the bad days, the locked room finds sunlight again, and the markings on the wall seep to the floorboards, drowning the tiled floor with black. There’s no drain Suga can open, so he pulls the stuffed dog into his lap and willingly lets himself be pulled under. 

Daichi was an enigma. He was specks of stardust encapsulated within a single soul. He planted himself and took root in Suga’s life, in his mind, in his heart; silver and gold daisies bloomed there, promising something of smiles and a happiness that Suga hadn’t yet experienced. 

Suga thinks that maybe Daichi sealed the cracks in his composure like baking cinnamon cookies during Christmas. The smell of the cinnamon and sugar seeping into fabric, following it for hours after the cookies are gone. Daichi followed Suga like that, but more….vigorously. It wasn’t the soft, sweet smell of cookies all the time - sometimes, it was heady glances and sharp tongues and quick wit that struck Suga between his ribs, stinging and aching. It was rough, bitten remarks and even harsher bites along Suga’s neck, fingernails digging into flesh, but never enough to pierce skin. It was a slap across his cheek when Daichi would kiss him, and a punch to his diaphragm when Daichi would smile. 

Daichi was -  _ is _ a galaxy full of stars, burning up the air around him, and he grinned in the aftermath. 

And Suga burn, burn, burned up in his atmosphere, happily and without regret. 

The thing is, Daichi and Suga were different. Daichi used to send him articles about soulmates and twin flames, and then gush about them before bed. Suga knows that their relationship was different than that of Tanaka and Kiyoko, or Noya and Asahi. Even Bokuto and Kuroo, who were the epitome of soulmates as far as anyone else was concerned, it wasn’t the same. There was something about the way they both just  _ knew _ each other - without question, without hesitation. The two of them just knew. 

That fact alone is probably why this has been so hard for Suga. 

See, Daichi took up residence in Suga’s life so carefully. He fit under Suga’s fingertips like fingerprints. In the space between his lips, the small of his back, the gaps between Suga’s ribs - Daichi fit there like the two of them had sewn themselves together with a small needle and silk thread. It was easy - it was simple and easy and every way Suga supposes he’d feel. 

When Suga wakes up this particular morning, he relishes in the feeling of warmth under his fingertips as he clutches  _ his _ pillow. Suga’s own pillow still rests under his head, covered in sweat and tears and molten memories from the day before. His sheets hang loosely around his waist, and the duvet is sitting just on the tips of his toes where he pushed it down in the middle of the night. Even as he lays sprawled halfway across his side of the bed and the left side, the sheets still hold some warmth that’s not his own. 

At first, he doesn’t think about it. There’s a distant part of his mushy, sleep addled brain that supplies a thought:  _ Daichi must have just gotten out of bed _ . But that makes him spiral, eyes wrenching open as he gasps, dropping the pillow in a fit of blind panic. 

“What the fuck?” he speaks into the dark, heavy void of his bedroom. He doesn’t get an answer, but he’s not expecting to. 

They say - therapists and specialists - that sometimes, PTSD episodes allow the mind to wander aimlessly through an abyss of clouded memories, creating hallucinations. There aren’t any specific triggers that can be identified often, but Suga recognizes them all the same after the fact. 

Suga supposes this is an episode - the first one in a week of good and bad days. Holly, his American psychiatrist that he’s been seeing since the funeral, said once that episodes can occur no matter how many good days he has. But even with that in mind, Suga has never had an episode like this before - and he’s had many. 

Normally, episodes bring horrid smells that linger in his nose long after he surfaces, tastes that singe his tongue for hours, and sounds that plague his dreams for days afterward. Suga can hear the screams of his friends, the smell of hospital cleaning supplies, and the taste of blood in his mouth when he kissed over a lifeless cheek. He watches, with silent screams and hiccuping sobs, as the scene unfolds before him, just like it had six months ago. 

Sometimes, his episodes take him to the scene of the accident, a place he only heard about from the sheriff. He didn’t see any pictures of the scene, but only because he refused to look. His mind created it like it had been there in person, anyhow. 

Suga makes himself repeat, “This isn’t real,” for five minutes before shoving himself up on his elbows and crawling out of bed to sit on the floor, so he’s away from the temptation of wallowing in the warm sheets. He draws his knees to his chest, holding them with his arms, before dropping his head down to his forearms. He breathes slowly, trying to enforce the meticulous process of surfacing out of an episode like Holly taught him. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on the back of Suga’s neck, placed there gently, comfortingly. 

“You’re not real,” Suga states forcefully, biting through the syllables even when his teeth rattle and his jaw clicks. He doesn’t have to look to know for sure; Suga knows.  _ He knows _ . 

“How could I not be?” the voice,  _ his voice _ , asks quietly. It’s spoken like it knows Suga is nothing more than a rabid, feral dog that’s been backed into a corner, and he’s trying to calm him down. There are days when that’s exactly how Suga feels. 

“You’re not,” he repeats. The hand on his skin shifts, and then a thumb is being pressed right against the juncture of Suga’s shoulder and his neck. A placating type of touch. “ _ Stop _ . You’re not  _ him _ \- you’re not - He’s - “ Suga can’t make himself say it. He hasn’t been able to say the words since he walked into the hospital that night. 

“ _ Suga _ .” The voice is much closer to Suga’s left ear than before, and he can feel the brush of lips against his earlobe. A warmth encompasses his back, the shirt on his body doing nothing to shield him away from the feral want he feels for it. It’s agonizing, focusing so much energy on wanting something he knows he can’t have. 

“I’m finally losing it,” Suga tells his knees, voice coming out ragged and gravely, foreign to his own ears. All too quickly, he realises he’s trembling - with fear or longing, he isn’t sure. The two words are interchangeable during his episodes, like sadness and anger. 

There’s another hand tracing Suga’s shoulder. He clenches his eyes shut tighter, recoiling into himself. The fingers splay out across his skin, traveling down his arm, circling his wrist, and lacing with Suga’s left hand, his silver ring digging into his finger. He loosens his grip on his shin to let the fingers mesh with his easier. 

“Holly says hallucinations can seem real at the time,” Suga says, still not daring to open his eyes. “I can snap myself out of this if I focus hard enough.” 

The warmth at his back hums, rumbling against Suga. “Snap yourself out of this then, love.” 

Suga curses, clenching his jaw. His fingernails pierce the flesh of his shin in an effort to stay in control. But he’s losing, rapidly, and drowning in the dates and times of his memories. 

“Please,” he heaves, a hiccuping sob that leaves him gasping. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, and honestly, it doesn’t matter. The hand on his neck moves then, wrapping around his right hand, pulling it away from the crescent shaped indentations. The marks disappear quickly, Suga can almost feel them heal, but he wishes they’d stay, just so he could feel something other than this. 

He keeps his chin down and his eyes closed, even as two warm, familiar arms wrap him up in a protective shell. Suga’s toes curl against the floor, desperate for some kind of reprieve. He’s drowning - drowning in his scent, his warmth, his skin - he’s slipping through the cracks of his own resolve to move forward, slipping deeper into a void he knows he won’t be able to pull back from. 

“ _ Koushi _ .” 

His resolve breaks and he gasps. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Suga turns in his arms and lets himself drown. 

Two arms come to hold him, one on the back of his head, and the other around his legs, pulling him closer. Suga threads a tshirt between his fingers and holds onto it tightly, letting it be a pillar for him to ground himself. He shoves his face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, lips pressed against his pulse point. Suga fits between his legs like he’s always been able to, and that familiarity is what finally pushes him over an edge he’s been teetering on since he got a panicked phone call from the police. 

And Suga just - Suga  _ ruptures _ . 

When he’s cried before, Suga is able to keep the noise quiet. His sniffles are the loudest, but he doesn’t scream, doesn’t yell; he hasn’t let himself do that. He hasn’t felt like he deserved to let go like that. 

But here, here in Daichi’s - or a hallucination’s version of Daichi - arms, Suga holds on for dear life and lets all the pent up emotion go, into the void of his room, into the safety of Daichi’s arms. He lets it fall from his lips, the dam sufficiently broken. 

So, he screams. 

Suga pounds against Daichi’s chest and lets the man sway him, screaming at the top of his lungs the way he’s wanted to, even if his arms aren’t as strong as they used to be. Daichi’s lips rest just above Suga’s brow and they follow him when he scrunches up his face to let another blood curdling wail into the silence. Each time he sways backwards and then forwards, Daichi holds him, follows him and tucks Suga deeper into his embrace. 

“You were never meant to - “ But Suga can’t finish his sentence before a loud, hiccuping sob escapes him, and he gasps for a breath that’s not there. 

“It’s not your fault,” Daichi tells him, still calmly rocking him. “It was never your fault.” 

“I should’ve never let you leave,” Suga cries. Daichi hushes him before he can further that train of thought. 

“Stop it, Suga,” Daichi says. “You don’t have to put yourself through this pain.” 

And Suga can’t answer him, because he knows he’s been caught. 

Daichi places a firm kiss on Suga’s forehead. When Suga’s cries calm enough for him to speak, Daichi hums and says, “There are universes that exist outside of this one; there are small changes - just barely noticeable. There is one where you and I were never athletes; one where you were chosen to play on the national team, and after you retired, you got to live a happy life; one where you and I live to be ninety years old with six kids and a dog you hate.” 

Suga hiccups a laugh through a rough, wet convulsive gasp that makes his stomach churn. He keeps his eyes closed. 

“But this one,” Daichi whispers, nose rubbing against Suga’s, “is just one you have to live through.” 

With a shake of his head, Suga curls himself in to leech off Daichi’s body heat. “I don’t want this one without you,” he says honestly; probably the most honest he’s been with himself in months, let alone anyone else he’s spoken to. 

Daichi sighs and rocks them. “Life carries on endlessly, regardless of wants or needs. But it’s a rare and beautiful thing to even exist.” Daichi takes a breath and pulls Suga’s head away from his neck, tilting it up and kissing the tip of Suga’s nose. Suga feels Daichi’s lips against his when he smiles and says, “To have existed with you.” 

He can’t help it. There isn’t a bone in his body that allows Suga to stop the fluid actions of his limbs, and he doesn’t think he wants to stop anyway. He doesn’t think he could. 

With a whining sound in his throat, Suga throws his arms around Daichi’s neck and kisses him, hard, pushing against him with strength he hasn’t used in a long while, muscles straining. His body moves without thought, situating himself on his knees and moving to straddle Daichi’s hips like he’s done a million times before. He doesn’t wait for Daichi to catch up, just simply drops his jaw and traces his tongue along Daichi’s lips. He responds quickly, framing Suga’s face with his hands and tilting his face this way and that to get a better angle. Suga lets him control it, content with exploring Daichi’s mouth and relearning the way it feels against him, the way his tongue slips in a dirty glide against Suga’s. 

It’s raunchy, it’s disgusting with all of Suga’s snot and tears, and Suga is never going to forget the way it feels. 

Suga’s tears get to be too much after a while, and he’s forced to pull back and take a breath. Eyes still closed, and hands holding Daichi close, Suga tries to regulate his emotions, pull back in some way so he can keep kissing him, keep relearning, fall into the blessedly quiet contentment he’s been begging for, searching for at 3 a.m. with a bottle of whiskey in his hands. 

“I miss you,” Suga whimpers, rubbing his nose against Daichi’s and using his hands to touch everything he’s missed. He skirts down to Daichi’s shoulders, his neck, his chest and nipples (which earns him a raspy giggle - a beautiful sound that makes him lightheaded), down to his stomach. Finally, Suga trails his hands back up to Daichi’s hair, feeling it weave between his fingers. He’s so sure if he leaned up, he’d be able to smell Daichi’s shampoo. 

Suga’s hands stop on Daichi’s mouth, and Daichi smiles against his fingertips. “I’m right here,” the man replies. He kisses Suga’s fingers and wraps his arms around Suga’s waist. “I’m right in front of you, stupid.” 

That makes Suga snort out a laugh that’s mostly a sob, but it still floats around in his chest lightly. It’s something Daichi would have said. 

“Are you the Daichi from my universe, or are you from somewhere else?” Suga asks, surprising even himself with the question. He hates the feeling of indulging his hallucinations and letting them get the better of his mind, no matter if it’s Daichi or not. It makes him feel dirty, soured, for entertaining a figment of his imagination, for not being mentally strong enough to force it away. Holly says it’s nothing to be ashamed of, that sometimes hallucinations are the closest thing we have to something we lost. 

But really, Suga just feels defeated. 

At his question, Daichi snorts and leans into the pressure of Suga’s hands. “Nothing gets by you, huh?” Suga hums and drops his chin, kissing Daichi once, twice, three times before pulling away, all the while, still keeping his eyes closed. 

Even if this is still a hallucination, Suga knows that when he opens his eyes, it’s over. And he can’t let it be over yet - he’s still drowning and he doesn’t want to come up for air. He’s not ready to send the black ink down the drain and finally take a breath. He’s not ready, and he doesn’t think he ever will be, honestly. 

“Would it matter?” Daichi asks him. Suga begins to ponder. 

But when he ponders, Suga spirals. He can’t spiral. He needs to make this last. He has to catalogue every single detail to his memory before he misses his chance. 

Suga shakes his head. “You’re still Sawamura.” 

Daichi shrugs. He’s quiet for a moment too long, and that makes Suga worry. He hasn’t left yet, Suga knows because he can still feel him. But what would leaving look like? Suga falling to the ground in a heap of molten tears and ghost touches against his skin? Gasping awake as he chucks himself out of bed? With a single tear against his cheek, and flitting his eyes open, only to find out it’s 2 a.m.? Oikawa or Kiyoko shaking him awake and asking why he hasn’t been picking up his phone? 

Suga doesn’t know what Leaving looks like, what it will look like. Something tells him not to focus on it. 

“Understand that your soul is not bound by three-dimensional earthly existence,” Daichi whispers. “I read that somewhere once.” 

“Will you tell me about the other universes? The happy ones?” Suga requests after some time. He isn’t sure how much time has passed, only that it has by the count of deep, labored breaths Daichi took since he last spoke. 

See, time passes in a strange way with Daichi. Suga blamed it, in the beginning, on ‘having too much fun’ or ‘not wasting the time he was given’. The two of them would sit in Suga’s car after practice and lose time talking about anime or comic books. They’d run across the city, Suga shoving Daichi in bushes, and then laughing excitedly when Daichi would chase after him with a feral grin that made his stomach twist. Suga would sit atop Daichi’s thighs, staring down at him, and listen to him rant about school or Kuroo and Bokuto or work. Time would pass seemingly all too quickly for Suga’s taste, but he never felt like he’d wasted it. 

So, Suga began counting. He’d count the number of times Daichi blinked when he started on a tangent about school. He’d count the number of growls Daichi aimed at opposing teams when they were playing a game in high school. He’d count the number of times Daichi repeated words or phrases from animes or movies. He’d count each and every freckle on Daichi’s face, shoulders, and arms when they’d sit and do nothing but talk. He would count Daichi’s eyelashes, and then get distracted by a freckle on his lip, before going back and picking up where he left off. 

Time with Daichi was something that Suga counted by details. He didn’t worry about how much time actually spent with him; he counted moments. 

And here, now, with Suga wrapped up in everything that encompasses who and what Daichi is, Suga only counts. 

While he counts, Daichi talks. 

Suga realizes, with a horrifying start, that Daichi doesn’t speak in one specific way. He has different tones when discussing different topics, and somehow, that was lost on Suga before this exact moment. Now that he really thinks about it, Suga can pinpoint each tone difference. 

When Daichi talks about anime, comic books, and movies, his tone is clipped. Short and sweet to cover all the bases he can in a short amount of time. He speaks like he has to relay every sickening detail before time runs out. 

With books, Daichi just sounds lazy. Suga smiles internally at memories he has when Daichi would drone on and on about something he read for his literature class. He’s resigned, probably rolling his eyes at the pretentious wording of sentences, like the writers somehow felt they were better because they were the ones who did the research. 

Daichi talks about history the way he formulates a game plan - quickly, excitedly, and recklessly. His words are slurred, but sure, like he’s bursting with energy. Suga loves those discussions. They make him feel like a kid again. 

Suga’s favourite, though, is when Daichi speaks like honey on toast - slow, melodic words seeping into every crevice and crack. He soaks up the melancholy rasp in Daichi’s voice and lets it wash over him in a blanket of warmth. Those talks make Suga sleepy, in a way that leaves him feeling heavy and drunk. Drunk on words and honey. The only time Suga hears that, though, is when they’re in bed, sleeping or otherwise getting raunchy. 

Before he’s aware of it happening, Daichi picks Suga up, two hands holding his thighs, and carries him to bed with Suga tucking his face into Daichi’s neck. Daichi deposits him in his spot, fluffing his pillow and wrapping the sheets around Suga’s body. 

“Please don’t leave yet,” Suga rasps, clenching his jaw and his eyes, with his fingers tangled in the soft fabric of Daichi’s shirt. 

Daichi chuckles and presses a kiss on Suga’s forehead. “I told you earlier, dumb dumb, I’m right here.” Daichi’s hands come to frame Suga’s face, thumbs stroking under Suga’s swollen eyes. There’s a phantom feeling of something hard and cold against Suga’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Another kiss to Suga’s nose, and one on his mouth. Just a chaste thing that leaves him hollow. 

A second ticks by, with Daichi still surrounding Suga’s existence. 

Suga opens his eyes to sunlight streaming through the windows. 

Daichi’s side of the bed is cold. His lips are chapped. His face is snot-ridden and puffy. 

He calls Oikawa. 

He moves forward. 

* * *

The thing Suga hates about PTSD, and the symptoms that follow, is not being able to anticipate a trigger. It could be a scent, a sound, a taste, even a texture he can feel on the tips of his toes, and it’d set him off. PTSD doesn’t care who he’s around, what time of day it is, or where he is, if there’s a trigger, he has an episode. 

Oikawa, Shouyou, and Kiyoko are the only ones to have been a witness to one of Suga’s episodes.  _ God _ , he hates that word. It sounds like he’s sick. He’s not _ sick _ \- he just has a lot of problems. 

And that probably doesn’t even  _ begin _ to cover the mental warfare he’s got going on in his mind. 

He’s not even allowed to be on his own when he’s around Ezume, and it fucking kills him. It’s all because his fucking mind doesn’t know when to chill out, so the sound of Ezume’s crying or spilled juice could trigger Suga. 

The episode Oikawa was around for was awful and disgusting and Suga will never forgive himself for hurting his friend. It was just a split lip, but it never should’ve happened in the first place. (Oikawa was trying to calm Suga down, but Suga knocked his head back and hit Oikawa’s mouth. Really, Oikawa should’ve known not to grab him like he did.) At least the episodes with Shouyou and Kiyoko weren’t violent; if Asahi wasn’t called to help - well, Suga doesn’t like to think about that. 

But Holly  _ loves _ to fucking talk about it. 

“You’re acting more petulant than usual,” she comments, a snide smile playing on her lips. Suga  _ loathes _ her. 

“Yeah, well, eat my ass,” he snaps at her, waving a dismissive hand in her direction. He drops his hand to his lap and spins his wedding ring absently. 

It’s not fair how put together she looks all the time. Today, her blonde hair is secured in a bun on the top of her head, with fringe falling and rounding out her face. Her makeup is done, almost a bit sultry. She’s wearing a dark green blazer, with a light pink tank top underneath, and a pair of dark green slacks. While she normally wears a pair of strappy heels, today she’s wearing a pair of black flats that loop across the tops of her feet. 

Holly laughs a sharp sound and her eyes just barely narrow. Suga relents. 

“Sorry,” he tells her. “It’s been a rough week.” 

She hums and writes something down on her notepad. “Rough week could mean many things, Sugawara Koushi. Just last month, you told me you had a rough day with Tanaka, but he only made you run eight miles.” 

Suga rolls his eyes. “First off, lose the full name bullshit. I’m not your child, and I don’t want to hear  _ Sugawara Koushi _ .  _ Guh _ .” He doesn’t mention how the name rubs him the wrong way, only because he knows if he did, Holly would tell him,  _ get over it, it’s your fucking name _ . 

Holly snickers, but shrugs. “Oh, give me a break, you prickly shit.” 

“Secondly,” Suga says, “It wasn’t just plain running with Tanaka through the city. He made me run up a mountain.  _ For eight miles _ .” 

“Alright, alright, jesus.” Holly puts down her notepad and crosses one leg over the other, getting comfortable. “Give it to me straight - your PTSD episodes are getting worse, aren’t they? You’re only ever this mean after you’ve had a few.” 

Before he can find the nerve to stop himself, Suga snorts and levels her with a Look. Immediately, he realizes his mistake and winces, rubbing his eyes rough enough to see spots when he opens them again. In the week between their last visit, Suga had three, not counting the ones with Daichi. 

“You told me hallucinations were just that - figments of my imagination,” Suga speaks after a few moments of tense silence. Holly nods and takes a sip from a glass of water that’s sitting next to her on a small table. She watches him expectantly. 

“I do recall that conversation, yes.” 

Suga coughs, clears his throat, and scratches over his knuckles where he can still feel a phantom grip. “I know that some hallucinations can make you think - um, I know that they aren’t real, and - “ he flounders. He can’t explain it in a way that doesn’t make himself sound crazy. But then, Holly always tells him to stop using that word. He’s not crazy. 

“Suga,” Holly says. She’s leaning her elbows on her knees, pitched forward to regard him better. “Take a second to put your words together. Don’t force them.” 

Something in Suga splinters just a bit, and his attitude plummets. It feels condescending when she speaks to him like that. Not at all like honey. He groans, feeling the urge to snap at her flourish before he reigns himself back in. It’s a close thing, but he manages to get himself under control. 

“My hallucinations are so vivid, I can feel, hear, smell, and taste things again,” he says in a rush. 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he can take them back. 

Because after the first vivid episode with Daichi, Suga promised himself he wouldn’t tell anyone else unless he felt himself losing. It was his own infinity, endlessly surrounded by Daichi. He was content with that. The memories of Daichi’s skin under his, his scent, his lips - he’d be content for the rest of his life. He could lock up those memories in a new, spotless room with white walls, and white floors, and white curtains against the white window frame, and call it Daichi’s. 

And Suga wants it to happen again. He wants to be able to hold Daichi in his arms, kiss him, and say things he wishes he said before. There’s a deep seeded thought, deep in the confines of Suga’s locked rooms, that fears by telling Holly, the hallucinations might stop altogether. 

Realistically, Suga knows he would have to consent to taking new medication, so he could very well just tell Holly no. But something about that makes him feel guilty, though he can’t place why. 

Holly nods. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She offers an approving smile and sits back in her chair, getting comfortable. “Would you like to discuss this new development?” 

Suga definitely does not. “No.”

“Too bad,” Holly quips. “Talk.”

“Christ,” Suga mumbles, rubbing his face to avoid thinking about the thick ache in his throat or the sting behind his eyes. “We should have an opposite day, Holly. One where you tell me about all of your problems, and I pretend to listen.” 

That earns him a playful growl and a pen tossed at his forehead. “We can’t do that,  _ Koushi _ \- you’d have to act like a functioning adult, and you can’t even pretend to do that.” 

Suga gapes. But - yeah, she’s right. He just hates that she stated it so plainly. He wishes he could be mad at her. 

“I bet you talk to all of your patients like this,” Suga tells her, dropping his head to the back of the couch and sighing heavily. 

“Indeed, yes, especially if they need a kick in the ass,” Holly states smugly. “Don’t act like I’m wrong. Your face alone is giving you away.” Suga lifts his head to stare at her, lifting an eyebrow. “Oh, stop it, kid,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. “The second you walked in this room, I could see it.” 

Suga scoffs. “You’re a professional - “

“And I’ll call the emergency number and really figure out what’s going on with you if you don’t knock this shit off,” Holly interrupts. “I promised you in the beginning that I wouldn’t resort to that unless it was absolutely necessary. You and your father have that in writing as well.” 

During their first session, Holly wrote up a contract of sorts that promised Suga and his father that she would only use force if it was the last possible option. Calling her colleague at a nearby hospital would be a last resort. Suga wasn’t sure then, and he’s still not sure what ‘last resort’ looks like, but he assumes it can’t be good. 

Either way, she’s stuck to the contract, but always throws it in Suga’s face as a threat. He’s afraid for the day she actually follows through with it - especially after recent developments. 

“I’m not sure I ever want to know what that looks like for you,” Holly continues. “I hate doing it with my patients, and even more so with patients who clearly don’t need it.” 

Suga tilts his head. “Why do you hate it so much?” he blurts before he can stop himself. He winces and backtracks. “I just mean - Well, I don’t know what I meant. I’ve heard stories about people being sent to psych wards, but no one has ever told me what it’s like.” 

Holly takes a sip of her water and shrugs a shoulder. Then, she levels her expression and her face bleeds guilt. “I don’t like sending someone away without consent. It doesn’t make it any easier than doing it with consent, either. There’s something about it that’s easy - like I’m not doing my job properly.” She takes a breath and relaxes her shoulders. 

“If it saves your patients’ lives, though - that’s different, right?” Suga says. 

“Potentially. If there’s a chance someone could be a danger to others or themselves, then yes, I’d do it,” she replies. “In that circumstance, it’s not a last resort for me.” 

Suga snorts. “You seem to like that word, Hols.” 

Holly smirks at him from her chair. “Just means there are other options available. I don’t like not having options when dealing with dire situations.” 

“So what is it like, staying in the ward?” he wonders. 

“I always say it feels like being in someone else’s body,” she begins to explain. “They hold you for at least seventy-two hours as a preliminary measure to observe. Normally, the doctors record patients for that time period, so it’s all on film. After that, doctors make their decisions and get back to me so we can cohesively find a treatment plan that works.” 

“What do you mean, being in someone else’s body?” 

Holly clears her throat. “Sometimes patients can be combative after the observation is finished. The easiest way to get through to that nature and hold a calm conversation with them is to give them a mild sedative.” 

Suga tries to imagine what that might feel like if he were to do it to someone else. And then he thinks about someone doing that to him. 

Jesus, he’s starting to spiral again. It’s been happening a lot lately.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m living out memories from someone else’s mind,” he says suddenly, not even meaning to as he fiddles with his ring again. 

Holly hums. “It’s a scary thing, don’t you think?” 

Suga nods but doesn’t comment further. 

He doesn’t tell her that the locked room in his mind is starting to flood. He doesn’t tell her he had a hallucination of Daichi. He doesn’t tell her he’s scared to make them go away because he fears he may forget who Daichi was. 

Suga definitely,  _ absolutely, does not _ tell Holly he’d rather stay within the warmth - no matter how toxic - of his hallucination than live a normal life as a functioning adult. 

* * *

Suga realizes he’s having an episode the second he closes his eyes in the shower and feels a pair of hands wrap around his waist, lips press against the back of his shoulder, and a thick bulge rests right against the small of his back. 

He’s been doing well; if well counts as having a full six days of good days. He managed to keep a steady diet for those days, worked out with Tanaka, spent some time with Shouyou and Ezume, and drove over to Ukai’s place to look over the new high school team’s stats. Suga thinks Ukai asked for his help to keep his mind busy, but it’s been nice having a clear head. 

And then this happens. 

“You can’t keep doing this, Daichi,” Suga says, hands slipping on the tile in front of him where he holds himself still. Daichi rubs his face against the back of Suga’s neck and sighs. 

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is,” he replies. 

“ _ This _ ,” Suga drawls, dropping one of his hands to Daichi’s forearm, “is unhealthy. I’ve had good days, and here you are trying to fuck it up.” Behind him, he hears Daichi hum and tighten his grip just slightly. 

Daichi kisses a sweet kiss against Suga’s skin. “Open your eyes then, dumbass.” 

Suga snorts but takes a minute to enjoy the feel of Daichi against him. When he’s had his fill, and fifteen or twenty more kisses, Suga opens his eyes and steps out of the shower,  _ alone _ . 

* * *

On Tuesday, Suga wakes up from a particularly short nap on the couch fighting for a breath. His hands clutch at his chest as he sucks in gulps of air that never make it to his lungs. The tips of his fingers are starting to go numb, and his cheeks flame with frustration. Before he finally fell asleep, Suga had been awake for about thirty-seven hours. His nap was the result of a few too many swigs of the whiskey. 

His dream - his nightmare - was one of the bad ones; Suga’s running through the hospital and no one is telling him anything. Just as he rounds a corner to the emergency department, he hears Kiyoko scream and Asahi wails an awful sound. 

He flings an arm out to the coffee table where he last put his phone, dialing the first number he can think of. 

“Hey, man!” the cheery voice greets, oblivious to Suga’s current predicament. 

“ _ Yuu _ ,” he gasps, choking on the exhale. Tears sting behind Suga’s eyes, and it takes everything in him not to lose it while he’s on the phone. 

Noya would never let him live it down. Shit, Daichi would never, ever let him live it down if he found out. 

“I’m on my way,” Noya tells him gently. “Don’t go anywhere. If you can, go to the kitchen and get a few ice cubes. Just hold them until I get there.” 

Suga grunts his agreement. Noya doesn’t hang up, but Suga doesn’t expect him to. Instead, Noya puts his phone on speaker, talking Suga through getting the ice cubes and how to hold them. In return, Suga gets to hear Noya loudly get into his car and drive to Suga’s house, swearing at other drivers, and cursing to himself when he sees one of the city deputies patrolling. 

It makes the time go by faster, if anything. Soon though, Suga feels himself getting lightheaded, so he sets his phone down on the kitchen floor beside his thigh, listening to Noya drive as ice melts in his palm. 

* * *

By the time Noya actually makes it to Suga’s, he finds Suga sitting in the kitchen in front of the fridge, a small puddle of water surrounding his hands and soaking his sweatpants. Noya steps in the room slowly, but realizes Suga passed out at some point and he just didn’t realise. The man’s mouth hangs open just slightly as his deep, even breaths echo in the room. 

“Shit,” Noya swears, rubbing his forehead and sighing heavily. 

No one prepared him for this. And honestly, he doesn’t get paid enough. 

He doesn’t get paid at all, but that’s beside the point. 

A split second decision has Noya calling Asahi and Tanaka. Asahi first, because it’s  _ Asahi _ .

“Yes?” 

“He passed out,” Noya tells him, whispering into the phone. 

“So wake him up and put him in bed.” 

“Asahi,” he snaps, “he passed out from a panic attack, I think. If I move him suddenly, he might wake up and have another one.” 

Asahi hums. “Call Tanaka over; I’ll be there soon.” He ends the call before Noya can argue, but he can hear chatter in the background. Fuck, he’s probably still at work. 

Noya rolls his eyes and scoffs quietly, dialing Tanaka’s number. He promises to be over as soon as possible, and instructs Noya to keep an eye on Suga in case he does wake up again. 

Once he pockets his phone, Noya walks quietly into the kitchen. He has to move Suga away from the fridge so he doesn’t hit his head. Realistically, Suga wouldn’t give himself a concussion, but it would still hurt like a bitch. 

Suga has endured enough pain. This is known.

When he gets closer, Noya notices a bottle sitting on the counter. He inspects it with narrow eyes, twisting off the top and taking a small sniff, only to realize it’s the special kind of whiskey that Tendou sends Asahi every so often. Noya glances down at Suga, still passed out on the floor and shakes his head. 

Moving the man proves to be easier than Noya anticipated. Noya can remember when Suga was over two hundred pounds of pure muscle and engineered attitude; now, however, he’s smaller, almost as small as Shouyou was in high school. Suga’s arms aren’t defined anymore, and look like they barely fill out the worn shirt he’s wearing. Noya is sure he can fit his middle finger and thumb around Suga’s wrist without an issue. His collarbones stick out from the collar of his shirt, boney and not at all how they’re supposed to look. Even Suga’s fingers look slender and thin, his wedding ring barely staying in place. 

He’s almost positive that Tanaka has been taking him running, which would make no sense if he’s this thin. 

Noya pulls both of Suga’s arms up, cringes as the man grumbles and a few bones creak and pop, and bends down to get Suga placed halfway on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and grunts, lifting Suga off the floor and onto his feet. Noya does his best to repress a grimace at the smell of liquor on Suga’s breath. 

Eventually, Noya manages to get Suga over to the couch without waking him up. Granted, Suga not waking up might be because of the amount of liquor he drank or the exhaustion a panic attack causes, but Noya counts it as a blessing all the same. 

After Noya gets Suga comfortable and covered with a blanket, he goes back to clean up the kitchen. He puts the whiskey away in the cabinet, promising himself he’d tell Asahi about it later. Cleaning up the water on the floor is easy, getting paper towels to mop it up and throw them in the trash bin. 

By the time the kitchen is cleaned, the front door to Suga’s home opens. Noya exits the kitchen to find Asahi sneaking in, sliding his shoes off and keeping them by the door. 

“How long has he been out?” Asahi asks as he bypasses Suga and heads straight to Noya, kissing his forehead. 

Noya leans into him, warm and familiar. “I got here about ten minutes ago.” He pulls Asahi away from the living room and back into the kitchen, pulling the whiskey down from the cabinet. 

When Asahi sees it, his eyes fall shut and he drops his head back, lips pressed in a thin line. “He hasn’t done this since the first night after he left the hospital.” Asahi takes the bottle and holds it to the light, measuring how much liquid is still in it. He then takes a deep breath as his nostrils flair. “He looks anxious and exhausted.” 

“He probably drank that,” Noya says, pointing to the bottle, “to finally get some sleep. I think he woke up from a nightmare.” He takes the bottle and puts it back up. 

“How do you know he had a nightmare?” Asahi asks, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Noya matches him and looks over to the couch, watching Suga’s chest rise and fall as he sleeps. “There was something in his voice when he called me. It reminded me of the first two weeks after Daichi - um, after.” Noya coughs and scratches his bicep. “He used to call me when he woke up.” 

“The whiskey isn’t a constant,” Asahi tells him. “He would’ve been asking for more if that was the case. I bet he only uses it when he can’t get to sleep normally.” 

“Which is why he drank so much when he couldn’t sleep today,” Noya nods. He sighs. “I wish I could make this stop for him.”

“He said seeing Holly was helping. This doesn’t look like help to me - it’s like it’s getting worse.” 

He and Asahi share a look. 

Tanaka finally makes it over with coffee and Kiyoko in tow within the next hour, during which, Noya watches Suga sleep soundly, not even flinching when two more people come into his house. The three men move Suga to his bedroom after a while, and the group rotates shifts to sit just inside the door to keep an eye on him. 

When 2 a.m. rolls around, Asahi heads for his shift, taking a mug of coffee with him, sending Kiyoko back to the living room with Tanaka and Noya. Up until this point, it’s been pretty quiet in fear of waking Suga up. 

“I haven’t seen him like this in months,” Kiyoko says, voice low, as she sits down on the couch next to Tanaka, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. 

“That’s an understatement,” Noya replies. He watches as Tanaka lifts his arm to let Kiyoko settle against him more comfortably. “Asahi and I think he’s just sleeping off the liquor right now.” 

Kiyoko raised a judgemental brow. “I thought he wasn’t drinking anymore?” she asks the two of them. 

Tanaka sighs and rubs at his eyes, sleep pulling at him weakly. “Apparently he has. We don’t really know what’s going on in his head right now.” 

Noya shakes his head. “He told Ukai he wasn’t using it as an escape, though.” 

“When the hell did they have that conversation?” Tanaka wonders. 

“Asahi told me. Suga went over to his store last week at some point,” Noya says with a shrug. “As far as he knows, it was just said in passing. I think he was just sugarcoating it.” 

Kiyoko lifts her head from Tanaka’s shoulder and regards Noya. “You said he called you after a nightmare?” 

Noya nods. “He used to do it when it first happened. And before you ask, no, he didn’t tell me about it, and I didn’t ask.” Kiyoko rolls her eyes and falls back against Tanaka. Noya turns to Tanaka and asks, “How long has it been since you took him running with you?” 

For a moment, Tanaka looks surprised. Then, he schools his features. “He usually calls me when he’s having a good day - or, well, an  _ okay _ day,” he explains. “I’m pretty sure we went within the last two weeks or so. Why?” 

Noya scoffs. “From the looks of him, he doesn’t seem like he’s worked out in months.” Tanaka gives him a look he can’t decipher, so Noya holds up his middle finger and thumb, touching them together to form a circle. “I can fit two fingers around his wrist comfortably, dude.” 

“He could have developed an eating disorder,” Kiyoko yawns. “It’s not unlikely for people with PTSD. He might not even realize what he’s doing.” 

“I thought he was getting better,” Tanaka whispers, voice almost a whimper. Noya sends him an empathetic look and a sad smile. 

“Ryuu, buddy, I don’t think this is something that’s going to change over a few months. You know it’s different for everyone. Six months isn’t enough time for someone to grieve properly.” Noya watches as something shifts in Tanaka’s eyes. The man sighs and nods. 

“No one ever prepares you for this,” he tells the group. 

“Amen to that,” Kiyoko voices. 

Noya stays silent, but his agreement is heard nonetheless. 

Time passes in slow increments of shift changes, coffee, and texts sent to friends for updates. Tanaka even sends a few over to Holly to keep her in the loop. 

And after Suga wakes up and explains a few things that have been going on, life carries on, whether they want it to or not. 

* * *

  1. **Anger - 7 months to 9 months**



Sometimes, Suga wishes he had a different life. He wishes he was born into a different family. He wishes he never chose to be an athlete, never introduced to the volleyball world. He wishes he never picked up a fucking ball in the first place. He wishes for a lot of things. 

When Suga wishes, his thoughts get away from him, and he ends up feeling guilty the second he catches himself. 

It’s not that he wishes he never met Daichi, nor does he wish he never met the rest of the Karasuno team - he just wishes it were under different circumstances. 

On days when Suga loses hours of the day, dissociating as he stares at the wall, he realizes he hasn’t thought about Daichi in those hours. When he’s with Tobio and Shouyou and Ezume, Suga doesn’t think about the hospital or about Daichi’s laugh. When he’s with Oikawa, Suga manages a few hours without thinking about volleyball at all, which in turn means he doesn’t think about Daichi. Sometimes he’ll be doing the dishes and it all feels so normal to him without another body in his space talking about the weather or dessert. 

And it should scare him, catching himself not thinking about Daichi; but really, Suga’s just tired. Tired of feeling guilty when he goes longer than four hours. Tired of feeling tired when he doesn’t sleep for days at a time. Tired of lying to his friends when they ask how he’s doing. Tired of alienating himself. 

For the first time in seven months, Suga feels his anger tip, and he begins to break things. 

It starts in the bedroom. 

Suga takes one look at his dresser, the pictures that sit on top and the trinkets from trips and memories, before stalking over to it. He flicks his hands out and growls, swiping his arms over the top of the wooden piece, knocking the contents to the floor with an angry sound. Picture frames shatter, trinkets hit walls and ping along the floor, and suddenly, the anger dissipates. 

That reprieve only lasts a few seconds, and Suga wants - no,  _ needs _ \- more of it. 

In the course of three minutes, Suga has trashed the room, yanking pictures off walls, throwing pillows to the floor, sending a lamp to the bedroom door, and ripping apart the comforter on the bed. 

Suga’s blood boils, white hot rage filling his vision as he destroys anything he can get his hands on. Even the walls, which he punches over, and over, until the splinters slice open Suga’s knuckles. 

And it feels good, the destruction. It’s a break from feeling tired and frustrated, spilling all the things he’s been trying so hard to keep under wraps. It’s an outlet for Suga’s anger, and something about it sends his teenage memories flooding back in like a tidal wave of emotion; he remembers the feeling of a volleyball against his fingertips, how powerful he felt, how invincible; how looking at the losing team gave him a rush. 

Back then, though, Suga was in shape to play. Now, he hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, and he’s lost all the muscle definition he needs to really make a mess. 

After Suga collapses in exhaustion, he sits in the middle of the bedroom, back against the footboard of the bed, and stews in the midst of his own destruction and the phantom feeling of his own blood on his hands. 

* * *

Suga begins running. 

He needed an excuse to work through the anger he was feeling without resorting to hurting a friend on accident. Ruining his bedroom was one thing, because that could be fixed. But hurting someone else? Suga doesn’t think he’d come back from that. Ever. 

At first, he doesn’t last more than fifteen minutes without having to stop and gasp, but he does make it longer than he thought he would. When Tanaka would take him running, he saw it more of a fight or flight response - run with Tanaka or get the Disappointed Little Brother Look. Suga could ignore the pain for a few miles. 

Now, though, running for himself, Suga is able to let his guard down and acknowledge his pain without someone there to judge him for it. 

He begins to track his progress by day, number of miles, running speed, and number of breaks. Suga keeps all the information in a small, black journal that he keeps hidden in his mattress. (The bedroom is still a mess, but Suga hasn’t been able to bring himself to clean it - the broken picture frames of Daichi haunt him and make him feel sick.) 

Before the accident, Daichi saved up enough money to keep him and Suga covered just in case something happened with their jobs, so he takes some of that money out and pays up on bills before going to the grocery store and buying enough food to last him in meal preps for two weeks. 

Suga does his best to ignore his entire friend group for the first two weeks while he runs, meal preps, and has his sessions with Holly. He texts them every so often to let them know he’s alright, but he can’t face them just yet - especially since they don’t know how bad his anger has gotten. 

He’s not ignoring them because he wants to be alone. Instead, he’s doing it to protect them. 

No one really knows how much Suga’s fucked up in the past because of his anger, some more directly than others. Even with the invigorated anger that’s surfaced, there’s still a sliver of his conscience that refuses to put his friends in danger because he can’t control himself. 

In the midst of running and gaining back the stamina and muscle definition he lost, Suga also starts his own research project. Every night before falling asleep on the couch - where he’s taken residence since he demolished his bedroom - Suga brings his laptop to the coffee table. 

Most of his research has included looking into certain cars and their faults, weather conditions for specific nights in the past, and road conditions that could cause car tires to lose control. He also dips into recorded hit-and-run accidents that have occured on specific streets. Everything he comes across gets typed into a document that highlights details no one would look twice at. He saves the information he finds in a special folder that he codes to only be visible when he uses a numeric combination on the keypad. 

After the first two weeks of running and getting in shape and compiling information, Suga realizes that he needs to start gaining his strength back. His legs are more defined, but his arms are still thin and contain almost no muscle at all. He’s even had to put his ring on a chain around his neck because it kept falling off.

That also could have something to do with the fact that he wasn’t eaten much at all for the past six months. 

So, on a Monday, Suga drives over to a junkyard and buys two truck tires that can fit in the back of his car, along with a fender that he can use as a weight bar. Once he gets those in his truck, he takes them back home and hides them in the backyard under a tarp. 

He spends the rest of his day being meticulous about his meals and sorting out a workout regime that he can stick to, one that’s not related to volleyball in the slightest. 

* * *

“You look like you’re getting back in shape,” Holly comments one afternoon. Suga sits in his normal spot and ignores the flash of anger that bubbles up. He knows Holly can sense it, but thankfully, she doesn’t say anything about it. She’s been watching him differently lately. 

Suga doesn’t question it though. 

“I’m working out,” he tells her, keeping his tone neutral like he practiced. His fingers dance around the collar of his shirt, letting his hand brush against his wedding ring. 

Holly hums and doesn’t bring it up again. 

* * *

Suga is out on his run in the city when the thought hits him. 

Well, blindsides him, really, and he almost trips over a stray tree root. 

He hasn’t had an endgame to this getting back in shape thing. When it started, it was a way to blow off steam and drain out the anger that clouded his judgement like spoiled oatmeal in the heat. Suga didn’t have a goal to reach. He just needed something to occupy his time. 

But now - now that he’s getting his body back into a healthier state, he figures his mind is also reaching an equal footing. With that in mind, he figures he’s finally ready to see the pictures he’s spent so long not looking at. 

Suga quickly heads home without finishing his run, setting an alarm on his phone to remind him to write down the details in his journal. 

When he steps through the threshold, the first thing Suga does is shower the grime, sweat, and dirt off his body. After that, he changes into some comfier clothes that hang loosely off his shoulders and hurries back into the living room. He pulls his computer into his lap and opens Google, prepared to type a website into the URL bar. Before he can type anything, his fingers freeze over the keys. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, flexing his shaking fingers. 

His phone sits beside him on the couch, so he pulls that into his lap and calls Oikawa. 

“Suga! How are - ” 

“I need a favor,” Suga says, pushing the words out like a hard exhale. 

The line is silent for a moment, followed by some rustling. “What can I do for you?” 

Suga clears his throat. “I need you to send me the photos.” 

The silence is deafening. There’s a hushed voice that’s not Oikawa’s, but Suga can’t exactly distinguish who it belongs to in the heat of the moment. His heart races for a beat too long, and he thinks his friend has hung up on him. Another second later, Oikawa breathes, “I can’t do that.” 

And it feels like the world crashes beneath his feet. 

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” Suga spits, clutching his phone tightly between his fingers. 

Oikawa sighs, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I don’t have copies, and neither does anyone else for that matter.” 

“But - but someone has to have them.” Suga pinches the bridge of his nose as his bottom lip shakes with frustration. “Everyone has seen them except for me.”

“I understand that,” Oikawa placates, “but I don’t have the copies. They were locked and sealed a few days after the - “

“Please,” Suga interrupts again. “I need this; do you know who would have them?” 

Oikawa clears his throat. “Honestly, the only people who would have them is the precinct. But again, they’re locked away.” 

Any other day, Suga might have accepted this and moved on. But he just can’t do that today. 

Today he finally feels ready to see them. It’s a peace of mind thing, and Suga thinks that if he does stomach through it, he’ll be better off. 

“Asahi must have kept them somewhere, I know he - “

“Koushi, stop it,” Oikawa says forcefully. “I told you, no one has any extra copies because  _ you requested that _ .” 

Suga scoffs, “I didn’t request shit, Tooru.” 

“But you did.” Oikawa stops and takes a breath. “When the police asked if you wanted someone to keep copies for the future, you told them no. You told me no, and you told everyone else absolutely not. I don’t even think Kuroo looked at them - Bokuto still has nightmares.” 

“Well, I can’t speak on whether or not Kuroo saw them,” Suga says, petulant and harsh. “Someone else’s nightmares aren’t my fault.”

Oikawa huffs. “Don’t do that, Suga. You know you’re not the only one grieving here.” 

With a grunt, Suga grips his hair and pulls, unthinkingly. It stings, obviously, but there’s an angry, disgusting part of himself that won’t let him let go. It’s that feeling where he knows he’s beginning to spiral, dissociate into the void, but he can’t seem to pull himself out of it quickly enough. 

“Do  _ not _ ,” he hisses, “say that to me.” 

“I’m not allowed to tell you I’m still grieving?” Oikawa exclaims. “You may have been his husband, but he was our friend too!” 

Suga can feel the second his blood pressure rises, making his ears burn and his face flush. His eyes sting, and his throat constricts around a thick, volcanic stone. “Can you get me the pictures or not, Oikawa?” he sneers. 

On the other line, Oikawa scoffs and laughs an ugly, menacing sound. It’s a sound from their years in high school, playing on opposite sides of the volleyball net. It makes Suga nauseous. 

“No, I can’t.” 

He ends the phone call before he can say something stupid. Well, stupider. 

“You’re going to push everyone away if you keep this up, Koushi,” a voice says from behind him. 

Suga doesn’t react like he might have three months ago. Instead, he sighs and presses his palms to his eyes. “I can’t do this right now, Daichi.” 

Daichi walks around the side of the couch to sit down, eyeing the computer warily. “The pictures aren’t pretty.” 

“I’m aware of that, thanks,” Suga spits, closing his eyes and ignoring the hurt look he knows is painting Daichi’s face. “I know they’re messy. Bokuto, apparently, still has nightmares.” 

“I think he’s getting better, though,” Daichi replies. “But I don’t think  _ you _ are. I just want you to live - you don’t have to mourn alone.” 

And that - well, Suga just sees red after that. Not just red - it’s a blinding burst of color that floods his veins and makes him feel hot from the top of his head, down to his toes. 

“Don’t pretend you know anything about how the fuck I’m feeling!” he yells, pushing his laptop to the ground. He stands up from the couch and threads his fingers through his hair, gripping it tightly. “You don’t know anything because you’re  _ not real! _ ” 

He hears a noise, a wounded, painful noise and turns around to find Daichi gone, the couch cushion bereft of any indication that Daichi sat on it at all. 

“Fuck!” Suga screams, spinning around and punching the closest thing to him, which happens to be a large canvas painting. His fist goes straight through it and hits the wall behind it. It makes a sick, bone chilling sound as it tears, but Suga pays it no mind. 

He stalks around the room, trying to find something else to break. From the couch, Suga’s phone begins to ring, with Oikawa’s name popping up. With a grunt-turned-scream, Suga picks up the phone and chunks it at the wall. 

In the midst of his flailing and breaking whatever he can get his hands on, Suga’s hand flies out and connects with a picture that’s hung on the wall. It stings initially, and the sound of it shattering when it hits the floor is enough to make Suga stop for a moment. 

Turning to survey the damage, Suga sees the picture in question is one that was taken at his and Daichi’s wedding. They’re both surrounded by their friends, a large, wide group shot. Daichi is holding Ezume in his arms, and Suga is laughing at something Oikawa has said from beside him. There are various other faces being made at that moment, but Suga focuses instead on Daichi’s smile. 

He just looks so beautiful in the picture, is the thing. Daichi’s eyes are bright and wide, smile radiant. The black suit he’s wearing contrasts with his tan skin, and Suga can still see the slight flush on his cheeks. Their wedding bands are visible, a bright silver that stands out against the various grey, black, and dark blue suits.

A sob makes its way past Suga’s lips before he can stop it. He blinks as he bites his lip. His hands tighten around nothing, but he winces when he suddenly recognizes a sharp pain in his right palm. 

“Koushi, you have to stop this,” Daichi’s voice says. 

Suga stands and looks down at his palm, and then glances up to Daichi, who’s standing in front of him. 

* * *

“Iwa-chan, he’s not answering his phone,” Oikawa says, frantically moving around their bedroom in search of pants and a clean jacket. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

Iwaizumi watches from where he’s walking out of the bathroom, towel hung loosely around his hips. “What exactly did he say to you?” he asks. 

Oikawa steps around him to reach into the closet, pulling out a hoodie and a clean pair of jeans. Iwaizumi is busy pulling on a pair of boxers when Oikawa finally gets the hoodie on correctly. “He wanted the pictures from the accident scene, but I told him no one else had copies of them.” 

Iwaizumi grimaces, “Why now of all times? I thought he told everyone he didn’t want to see them at all.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” Oikawa says. He threads his fingers through his hair to try to tame it after the hoodie mussed it up. Then, he grabs the jeans quickly and shimmies them up his legs, stumbling slightly when he loses balance. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone in two weeks, and when he finally does, it’s about those fucking pictures.” 

Oikawa knows he shouldn’t be angry with Suga, especially after everything that’s happened. But sometimes it grates at his nerves when Suga acts like he’s the only one still hurting. 

Losing someone is hard on anyone. Grief is an ugly parasite that haunts whoever was in the vicinity. But losing Daichi - that was something no one expected, which hurts that much worse. 

Oikawa knows how badly Suga handled it in the beginning. He knows how everyone was affected. Hell, he knows how hard it’s been on  _ him _ . 

More times than not, Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s apartment would be drenched in tears and long, soul searching conversations. 

In the beginning, right after the funeral, Oikawa would come home from work to find Kuroo and Bokuto sitting in front of the door, leaning on each other for support; Asahi would come over with Noya at his side, looking far too guilty for someone asking for extra support; Tobio normally chose the hours between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. to stop by, eyes puffy and lips bitten red in an effort to stop crying - some nights he’d stay glued to his phone in case Shouyou needed help with Ezume; even Aone, who never gave Oikawa the time of day, came knocking on the door one afternoon, still as silent as ever, needing company. 

Thankfully, Iwaizumi took it in stride, welcoming each and every person into the apartment without hesitation. He’d sit up until 5 a.m., knowing he had work that morning, with Tobio, just to make sure he wasn’t alone. If he knew someone hadn’t eaten all day, he’d make a light meal and sit with them until they were finished eating. 

Iwaizumi has really been a trooper. 

A lot of things changed after high school, that much is true, but it changed even more after losing Daichi. Suga and Oikawa’s friendship wasn’t always strong, but he likes to think they’ve come a long way since their days in high school. That’s why he knew there was something in Suga’s tone when he called. 

“Did he stop seeing his therapist too?” Iwaizumi asks next. 

Oikawa shakes his head and sits down on the side of the bed to put on his socks and shoes. “As far as anyone else knows, he’s been seeing her every week since the funeral.” Once his shoes are on, Oikawa stands and walks to the dresser to collect his phone and wallet. He shoves them in the pockets of his jeans and hurries into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

“Have you called anyone else? Would he go anywhere?” Iwaizumi leans against the bathroom door, arms crossed over his chest. When Oikawa spits the toothpaste into the sink, Iwaizumi adds, “I don’t want you to get hurt again if he’s having an episode.” 

“No, no,” Oikawa says, rinsing his mouth and putting his toothbrush in the designated cup. “The only reason I got hurt was because I fucked up and tried to hold him down. But he didn’t sound like he was having an episode. There was something off about his tone, I guess. I texted Asahi and Tobio, but neither of them have heard from him yet.” 

“Yet,” Iwaizumi muses. “I’m assuming you’re going to look for him?” 

Oikawa steps into his space and places a quick kiss to his lips, hands settling on his hips. “I have to make sure,” he says, voice soft. 

“Please be careful, and keep me updated.” 

“Honestly, Iwa-chan, you should know better,” Oikawa smiles. “I’m always careful.” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but kisses him again for good measure anyway. “Call me if you need me. Love you.” 

Oikawa sends him a grateful smile. “I love you too, Iwa-chan.” 

The first stop is Suga’s house. It doesn’t take Oikawa long to make it over there, especially because he opted to run instead of taking the bus. He knocks on the front door and calls out for Suga, but doesn’t get an answer. When he tries the handle, hoping that it’s unlocked, it twists and opens with a loud creak. 

“Suga?” The house is eerily silent as he makes his way through the foyer. He opens his mouth to shout a bit louder, but the words die in his throat when he finally gets to the living room. 

In short, the room is a disaster. Initially, it just looks like there had been a fight. There’s broken glass littering the floor, the laptop is flipped screen down on the floor near the couch, and Suga’s phone sits by a wall, screen shattered and blinking green and yellow. 

“Fucking shit, Koushi,” Oikawa mumbles. He bends down to grab Suga’s phone first, pressing the power button once, twice, three times just to make sure it won’t turn on at all. When the green and yellow screen turns black, he sighs and tosses it to the couch, going for the laptop next. 

It’s not completely destroyed, Oikawa finds, but it looks like it went into a sleep mode. As soon as he has it sitting on the couch correctly, he presses the spacebar and the screen comes to life. 

The first thing he sees is an explorer tab open for his email. The inbox has well over a thousand unread emails, which isn’t that surprising. Oikawa knows Suga quit his job after the accident. Most of the emails are from old coworkers, Daichi’s family, Suga’s family, and the rare ones from one of the guys. Again, none of this is surprising. 

What is surprising, however, is a minimized window. Oikawa takes five seconds to feel guilty about looking through Suga’s life before he swallows it down and opens the window, finding the city police website pulled up. Specifically, the page is full of contact information like emails, phone numbers, and office hours. 

Oikawa finally realizes what’s going on. 

He yanks his phone out of his pocket and calls one of the numbers from the website. He chooses the only name that sounds vaguely familiar and doesn’t hesitate, holding the phone up to his ear. 

“Thank you so much for calling, how can I - “

“Hi, my name is Oikawa Tooru, and I need your help,” Oikawa rushes out. “There was a hit-and-run vehicular accident about nine months ago, and Sawamura Daichi was the victim. He worked at your precinct for three or so years. His husband, Sugawara Koushi, was the emergency contact, and I just need to know if he’s been to the station today.” 

The woman on the line hums. There’s the sound of typing on her end before she says, “I haven’t had any notes about Sugawara coming to the station. Normally we keep an active visitor’s log here at the front desk, and his name isn’t coming up at all.” 

“Okay, thank you,” Oikawa breathes, relief flooding him. “Can you tell me if he’s been by at all in the past two weeks?” he asks next, hopeful but not expecting anything.

“Unfortunately,” she begins, tone sympathetic, “we can’t give out that kind of information.” Oikawa sighs, but she continues. “If he’s a danger to others or himself, I can send a couple of my deputies out to look for him.” 

And that - that thought makes Oikawa’s stomach churn. “Oh, god no, no. He’s not a danger to anyone. I haven’t spoken to him in a few weeks, and I’m worried.” 

“I’m sorry,” the woman says. “He’s been on all of our minds this year.” 

“No, it’s fine. It hasn’t been the easiest few months. Thank you so much for your help, though,” he answers, not giving her a chance to reply before ending the call. 

Oikawa pushes the computer to a safe spot on the couch beside him and closes the lid, heading for the door when he sees it. There’s a picture frame on the carpet, smashed. It’s a picture from their wedding, with twenty or so friends surrounding the two of them. When Oikawa inspects it further, he can see a bit of dried blood on the glass surrounding the frame. 

“Fuck.” 

He knows Suga’s not very far, he couldn’t be far at all. So, Oikawa sprints from the living room, and out the front door. 

First, he calls Iwaizumi to update him on what he found and where he’s going. He’s still explaining it all when he gets another call, Ennoshita’s name popping up on the screen. 

Oikawa quickly offers Iwaizumi an apology and accepts Ennoshita’s call. “Hey, are you at home?” he asks, steps getting quicker. 

“Are you close to Asahi’s?” he asks. 

“Um - I’m about five minutes away if I run,” Oikawa replies. There’s a scuffle in the background, followed by Bokuto and Kuroo speaking. Then, like a bolt of lightning, Oikawa hears the disgusting sound of a punch land. “I’ll make it in two,” he tells Ennoshita, keeping his phone to his ear as he breaks out into a sprint, ignoring the rest of the background noise. 

Oikawa eventually puts Ennoshita on hold as he runs, calling Iwaizumi back. If anything, it’s to keep him sane. If anything, it’s so he doesn’t lose it. 

If anything - 

Oikawa doesn’t know what to do anymore. 

* * *

The first thing Suga sees when he’s lucid enough to be aware of his surroundings is Asahi’s kind face, hands holding onto Suga’s shoulders. There’s a group of people behind him, but Suga can’t focus on them. Looking around, he realizes he’s standing in Asahi’s living room, near the front door. Asahi’s lip is split, and Suga’s knuckles ache. 

Fuck. 

With a hiccuping sob, Suga collapses against the wall behind him, sliding down to the floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and buries his face against his kneecaps, trembling. 

Asahi pulls Suga’s hands away from his face and leans down so he’s eye level. “Suga, come on, let’s get you up off the floor, alright?” 

Suga snaps his eyes open and yanks his arms away from Asahi’s grip. He feels the molton tears fall down his cheeks, but can’t bring himself to care, especially with the audience he’s gained. There’s a hollow ache in his chest and a blip in his memory of the past few hours. 

From behind Asahi, Bokuto and Kuroo look ready to intervene if necessary, Ennoshita has a tight grip on his cell phone, and Tendou stands in the doorway of the kitchen with a mug held between his hands. Suga’s vaguely aware of Oikawa stepping through the front door, panting like he just ran three miles, mumbling something into his phone. 

“Alright, alright,” Asahi says slowly, raising his hands in surrender and taking a step back. The action puts himself between Suga and the rest of Asahi’s guests. Suga notices a streak of red on Asahi’s fingers. “I’ll stay back here.” He glances to where Tendou’s standing. “Tendou can get you some tea. That sound okay?” 

Suga gasps a breath and winces as it burns going down. He tries to remember what happened, and how he got here, but he just - he just  _ can’t _ . Suga remembers opening his computer, calling Oikawa, and the rest of it just goes blank. There’s even a vague memory of being able to see Daichi with his eyes open. 

It scares him, not being able to remember. It scares him more than anything. 

“How - “ Suga wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and tucks them under his arms when they shake. “Um, how did I get here?” he asks, voice just barely above a whisper. Suga studies Asahi’s face and asks next, “Did I do that to you? Did I hurt you?” 

Asahi’s eyes flit over to Oikawa and then back to Suga, a grim smile working over his face. “I think you walked here,” he replies slowly. “Your hand is bleeding, though, so we should get that patched up.” Asahi avoids the last bit of Suga’s questions, but Suga knows him well enough to confirm his suspicions just by the look on Asahi’s face. 

It’s easy to read Asahi when he’s hurt or upset. Suga can see it clearly. 

Suga pulls his hands from under his arms and sees the cut on his palm. It’s not deep, but it’s big enough to still be bleeding for however long it’s been. There’s also a small split on his middle knuckle. When he realizes he doesn’t know when either injury happened, Suga chokes a nasty sound and looks back up at Asahi, who says something to Tendou about a medical kit in the kitchen. 

“Koushi,” Oikawa says, bending down to his knees beside Suga, “let’s put a bandage on your hand. You’re getting blood all over Asahi’s nice rug.” 

Suga regards Oikawa with a look, but ultimately accepts his outstretched hand. He pulls Suga off the floor, after spending a second too long studying his wedding band that sits back on his finger, and leads him into the kitchen to sit in a chair at the table. It’s silent as he moves around, grabbing a towel and running it under the water before bringing it back to Suga’s hand. 

Oikawa works quickly. Tendou hands him the medical kit and leaves the area, heading back into the living room with the rest of the group. Oikawa pulls a few packets of gauze from the kit after he’s cleaned the cut and his knuckle, then applies an antiseptic ointment. After that, Suga looks down as Oikawa presses the gauze along his palm, wrapping his hand with medical tape to keep it all in place. When he’s finished, he cleans up the trash and throws the bloody towel in the sink. 

“Okay, good as new,” he states with a small smile. “Now, let’s get you home, yes?”

“Did I do that to Asahi?” Suga asks, voice close to a whisper. Oikawa falters for a moment, like he’s going to respond. In the end, Suga watches his friend struggle to find words before ignoring them altogether, choosing to help Suga to his feet instead. 

Suga feels like he’s drowning, but follows Oikawa anyway. Oikawa keeps a steady, grounding grip on Suga’s left hand, fingers laced together, and leads him into the living room toward the front door. 

The group there watches with focused eyes, following Suga’s body. He sends an apologetic frown their way, knowing it won’t make up for anything they’ve seen. 

Asahi is sitting on the couch with an ice pack against his lip, his phone curled against his ear. Even though it’s not on speaker phone, Suga can hear the anger through the speaker. 

“He hurt you  _ again _ ?!” a familiar voice screeches. 

“No, no, Noya, it wasn’t like that at all,” Asahi promises. He won’t look at Suga though and that alone makes his heart break. 

“There’s no excuse, Asahi,” Noya presses. “He has to be held accountable for his actions. Grief is not an excuse to hurt people.” 

And that, the way Noya sounds so sure of himself in his conviction, the way Asahi looks resigned - it all chips away at Suga’s resolve, piece by piece. 

“Hey, wait.” 

Oikawa stops, forcing Suga to stop. When Suga turns, he finds Kuroo, waiting patiently, hands stuffed in his jean pockets and swaying back and forth on his feet. There’s something in his posture that makes Suga bristle. He knows Kuroo only has good intentions, but Suga recognizes pity when he sees it. 

“Bokuto and I are staying in town for the next few weeks,” he tells Suga, who remains silent. “Just - just call us if you need to, alright? You’re not alone in this.” 

Suga waits, glancing at Bokuto, who sits on the couch with his hands pressed to his knees, and then back to Kuroo. He nods, not trusting his voice, and turns to continue out the front door. 

On the bus ride back to his house, Suga holds onto Oikawa’s hand, firm and familiar. 

The two of them don’t discuss the day’s incident, and when Suga tries to apologize for the way he spoke to Oikawa, he’s silenced with a smile and a tight hug. 

* * *

Holly stands from her chair and walks over to where Suga sits on the couch in her office, shrugging off her blazer. She holds it in her lap as she sits, placing a hand on Suga’s shoulder. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she urges softly. 

There’s something in the pit of Suga’s stomach, something he can’t pinpoint. It feels like a heavy cement block, crushing him from the inside. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Holly wipes his cheek with a gentle, manicured finger. 

“No one will show me the pictures,” Suga tells her, breath catching in his throat as his voice breaks. He sniffles loudly and curls in, laying his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. “I just need to see the pictures.” 

Holly sighs and rests her hand on the back of his neck. “Koushi, you told the police you didn’t want to see them. They’ve been locked up in evidence since the funeral.” 

When a star dies, their entire anatomy condenses into a small ball of energy, pulled as tight as a rubber band to its furthest point, waiting for something to break it. Most stars that litter our galaxy take millions of years to die, which is why the stars we know and learn about today will be gone in a million years. 

A star will burn all of the hydrogen fuel it possesses, expanding to become a red giant. At that point, a red giant could reach a size that could swallow two planets like Mercury or Venus.

The death of a star brings different phases that light up the night sky. The red giant star is big enough that one hundred of our suns could fit inside. It’s a bright, fiery red ball of heat that burns with the same passion in which it was formed. Condensed, swollen energy of helium that has been fused into carbon, and then again from carbon to oxygen, burning in the galaxy. A ball of fire and swollen fury, the way Daichi made Suga feel.

After the red giant, comes the white dwarf, a star the size of earth. Light blue, pure white. The oxygen of the star fuses into iron, and the star takes its last breath as it leaves behind a dense, earth size remnant of a star.

This, having Holly talk to him like he is a child or a ticking time bomb, makes Suga feel like a star, being strung so tightly he could burst at the slightest touch. He feels like a red giant star, burning and burning with fury and fire, with more power than a hundred suns. He feels like the white dwarf, a bright, blazing light the size of earth.

Suga jumps from the couch after yanking out of Holly’s touch. He holds his left hand against his hip, and his right up to his mouth, chewing on the skin around his thumb’s nail. His feet carry him across the office, pacing one way, and back the other way, again and again until he can get his thoughts in working order. 

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” he asks, staring at the carpet as he walks. 

Holly shifts on the couch to face him. “What’s that?” Her voice sounds like she’s trying to be soothing, but really, it makes Suga’s teeth ache in an effort not to snap at her. It’s been happening pretty often, feeling irritated or agitated by something as simple as someone’s voice. Recognizing the fact that it’s happening is just another thing added to the list of things that make his blood boil. 

“You know, I’ve heard all the stories, and I’ve done the research about grief,” Suga begins. “That homework you gave me when we first started this - I know what happens when someone loses a loved one, or has PTSD, or experiences some kind of trauma.” 

“Yes,” Holly agrees. “You not only lost someone you loved, but you also experienced a traumatic event in the process.” 

Suga scoffs, darts his eyes at her, and continues chewing on his thumb. “That’s what I don’t understand. I was never there at the accident, and by the time I got to the hospital, he was already gone. The pictures aren’t a factor because apparently, I made sure no one kept physical or digital copies.” 

Holly nods, sitting back against the couch and crossing her legs, one arm thrown behind her head. “You can’t control the way your mind reacts to these things; it’s not a cut and dry - “

“But the only ‘traumatic’ thing I’ve seen was when I got to the hospital,” Suga interrupts. 

“You might not have seen anything from the accident, that’s true,” she continues. “You still lost your husband, Suga, and that’s not an easy thing to recover from.” 

“He should’ve never been driving in the first place!” Suga yells, finally. Eyes wide as he stares at Holly, Suga feels his bottom lip begin to tremble. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I shouldn’t have ever let him leave the house in the state he was in, but I did, because I was so angry at him.” 

“What did you fight about?” Holly questions, regarding him in a way he hasn’t seen in the time he’s been one of her patients. 

Truthfully, Suga hasn’t told anyone, aside from the police that were called to the scene, the details of that night. Even with the police, one of them being Daichi’s old friend from the academy, he kept his answers short and to the point, ignoring key details. Holly has asked over these past nine months, but Suga hasn’t ever given her a straight answer. 

The rest of his friends, the ones who were already at the hospital when he got there, blessedly decided not to question him about it. Suga knows Kuroo wanted to ask and squeeze the details out of him. Even now, he doesn’t even know what he’d tell his friend regarding the real reason Daichi was driving to his house. 

“His job promoted him,” Suga tells her, biting down on his bottom lip to try and keep it somewhat together. If he’s going to work through what happened - well, he doesn’t want to sound like a blubbering child. 

Holly, bless her, takes it in stride like this isn’t news to her. “What position did they offer him?” 

Suga scoffs an ugly sound and wipes at his eyes aggressively. He takes a deep breath and studies a spot on the carpet as he replies, “The head of a new team being constructed in Toronto. They wanted him there within six months to begin the process of hiring his editors himself. If I’d have just listened to him, we’d be in Canada right now.” 

“You weren’t ready to leave Japan?” she wonders next, voice still calm while Suga’s struggling not to have a panic attack. 

“It wasn’t that,” he says. “He didn’t give us a chance to talk about it - he just accepted it without telling me.” 

Holly hums. “So, he accepted the offer without consulting you first, which then led to a fight.” The way she says it makes Suga’s head hurt. 

“He told me we still had six months to figure it out, which is why he was saving up so much money, but I was so fucking angry at him for not even including me in the decision making process,” Suga tells her. “I threw a glass mug at the wall, shattered my phone, and screamed at him. In the years we’ve been together, I’ve never,  _ ever _ yelled at him like I did. I know marriage isn’t easy, but moving to the other side of the world is something we should’ve talked about.” 

“And then he left to cool off?” 

Suga shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek. His composure is slowly splintering and there are tears stinging the skin of his cheeks. He feels an ugly ache in his throat like he’s trying to swallow around a stone. His rooms are flooding, and he feels like drowning in dates and times and memories. 

He takes a second to ground himself before he looks Holly in the eye and states, “I told him to leave.” 

And it’s out there, in the open, for anyone to judge him. The words, the dates, the memories that have been haunting him for nine months surround him like a winter sweater in the middle of July. It scratches his neck and a spot on the inside of his bicep - a disgusting parasite that eats away at him slowly, methodically, like a fly on a strawberry. 

“Suga, you didn’t cause the accident,” Holly says firmly with no room to argue. She stands from the couch and walks to him slowly. “This,” she gestures vaguely around the room, “is not your fault.” 

“No, you don’t understand!” he snaps, pointing a finger at her. “I told him to leave, and it was my fault. He should’ve never been in that fucking car.” Suga shoulders past Holly and over to the couch. He touches his wedding band, spinning it. His next words come out with a whimper. “The last conversation we had was a fight.” 

“Koushi, listen to me - “

“I didn’t even tell my husband I loved him when he left.” 

Sometimes, when Suga feels like his grip on reality is slipping and he’s falling into the void with no safety harness, he thinks back to the last few words he ever said to Daichi, and it brings him right back down to earth. 

_ Please, just go hang out with one of the guys, away from me _

Suga’s fingers slip from the grip he has. His mind wanders for a moment as a single tear trails hotly down his cheek. There’s not a thing he can do to stop the tears, now that they’ve spilled over the edge. But really, he, himself, has already spilled over the edge. 

_ Go away, Daichi _

He’s flailing, arms stretched out wide like his fingers, hands grappling for anything at all that he can possibly grab and hold onto. He kicks his legs out in hopes of catching on something. 

_ Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to be around you right now!  _

And Suga’s hitting the pavement of reality, snapping back to himself with a horrifying crunch when his head hits the concrete. 

When Suga was eleven, he fell out of a tree and broke his wrist, collarbone, and bruised a rib. After his mother took him to the emergency room, she kept saying, “You’re so strong, Koushi - you’re going to pull through this.” Even when a doctor came in to put him in a cast and give him some pain medication, Suga’s mother held his hand and hugged him close. She made him feel safe and cared for. 

The tree was tall and scary, and he knows why he was injured as much as he was. But sitting up there on a branch, Suga looked down on his neighborhood with a frightening sense of clarity for an eleven year old boy. He could see two full blocks of houses, and it made him feel like he was invincible. 

And then, after he fell, his mother made him feel invincible, like nothing could hurt him again. Because even when he fell and broke two bones, Suga knew that he was alright - he was going to pull through, and that’s what he did. He repeated the words over and over in his head for the next decade, no matter what the situation brought. 

But this - no, this is something completely different. Obviously, there are major differences in the two situations, but that’s irrelevant. 

The point is, from the moment Suga first met Daichi, he felt safe. With Daichi, Suga felt invincible and untouchable. Daichi gave him a shelter that was handmade and sturdy, with brick walls and cement sealing; with insulation and a roof that could weather a tornado; with soft carpets and a large bathtub; with the words ‘home’ and ‘I love you’. 

And now, standing in Holly’s office, tears streaming down his cheeks and tattooing their brand on his skin, Suga has never felt more alone. 

* * *

  1. **Bargaining - 10 months to 11 months**



Suga stops driving. 

Suga starts taking the bus, and chooses to sit in the front seat, ready to jump off if he needs to. 

Suga begins seeing Daichi with his eyes open. Whether or not he’s having an episode, he isn’t sure. He’s able to catalogue every inch of skin he’s missed or forgotten, and he’s going to be grateful for that for the rest of his life. 

Suga keeps running, but refuses to log his progress. He continues working out, building muscle definition and strength. It’s the only time he takes off his wedding ring, just for his peace of mind that he won’t accidentally lose it. 

Suga stops talking to his friends, ignoring their texts and calls in favor of keeping them safe. If he ignores them, there’s absolutely no risk of having arguments, and no risk of driving away angry. There’s also no risk that they’d start asking questions. 

Suga sees Holly weekly like normal, but he stops giving her answers for each and every question she asks. Instead, he mostly keeps quiet during their sessions. Sometimes they’ll sit in silence for the hour, and sometimes he’ll say a few words. For the most part, though, Suga stares at a spot on the wall while Holly stares at him. He’s sure he’d burn a hole through the plaster if he tried hard enough. 

Suga gets horrendously drunk one night and hides his car keys. When he wakes up the next morning, he’s hungover and miserable, but he forgets where he hid the keys. He counts it as a small win. 

Suga researches survivors guilt after hearing the term, and he spirals for a week straight. Holly told him it doesn’t necessarily apply to his situation - it still bothers him. 

Suga waits as long as he can before picking up his new phone and making a call. 

“Tooru, I need help,” he whimpers into his phone, knees cradled against his chest. He looks around his bedroom and grimaces at the mess that he still hasn’t cleaned up. His fingers tighten around his wedding ring subconsciously, closing it against his palm. 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Oikawa replies. 

It’s almost been a full year, and Suga knows he can’t do it alone. 

* * *

  1. **Depression - 12 months to 13 months**



“To Daichi,” Kuroo speaks from where he’s standing at the end of the dinner table. He reaches over and takes Bokuto’s hand within his own, the two of them holding up glasses of sake. 

“To Daichi,” the rest of the group answers, lifting their glasses in the air and tipping them. 

Suga feels a hand on his thigh, and when he looks over, Oikawa is sending him a friendly grin, tipping his glass. With a smile that feels a little too forced, Suga grips Oikawa’s hand and laces their fingers. The touch grounds him and keeps him present. 

The only reason this dinner party thing is happening is because Oikawa is a ridiculous human being. At first, he asked Suga what he thought about a small dinner to honor Daichi and share only good stories and memories. When Suga waved a dismissive hand and brushed by him to go back to sleep, Oikawa seemed to have taken it as a yes. 

And it’s not a small dinner. There’s nothing small about this at all. 

God, Suga could _ throttle _ him. 

Most of the Karasuno guys are here, even little Ezume, who sits next to Tobio and drinks his juice. Kuroo and Bokuto brought Akaashi, but Kenma had to work, so he sent his regards instead. Oikawa and Iwaizumi brought along two of their high school friends that Suga still can’t remember the names of. Aone came as well, with Tendou and Ushijima tailing him. Kiyoko managed to get Yachi to stop by too. Tsukishima sent an email a few days before, letting Suga know he was still out of the country, but he’d be sure to stop by when he made it back. 

Oikawa failed to mention that he was also inviting Daichi’s old coworkers from when he was a police officer for the city. Granted, he was only an officer for three years after high school before going back to school to get his degree in English and Marketing, but he still made plenty of friends. There’s only two of them that showed up, which Suga is grateful for. 

Thankfully, this entire party is being held in Tanaka’s home, which is definitely large enough to fit everyone. Kiyoko set up an extra table so no one is left out. 

But it’s the sheer size of the group that really hits Suga. And it hits him hard. 

He tightens his fingers around Oikawa’s in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

It’s the knowledge that even a year later, there are so many people wanting to come together and honor Daichi’s name. They want to share stories they have of him with friendly company, and listen to the best moments of Daichi’s life like a movie reel on the big screen. 

It’s another shade of color that just shows Suga how much Daichi meant to everyone. 

Oikawa decided to have the dinner party nearly a month after the anniversary. Suga thinks it was so he had time to work through it and have enough time to get his mind and his heart on the same page. 

Suga should probably thank him for that. 

Doing that, though, working through the pain, was one of the hardest things he’s had to do in a year. The closer it got to the day, Suga found himself sleeping more, without the use of liquor or medication. His body was tired, tired enough to warrant sleeping eighteen hours of the day. 

When he wasn’t asleep, Suga spent his time in his bed, wrapped up in blankets with his laptop playing Netflix beside him. During the rare times he did leave his bed, Suga only used the bathroom, got something to drink and eat, and showered. 

Asahi, funnily enough, was the one who came by first, finding Suga in a pit of his depression. A month’s load of laundry covered the floor of his bedroom, towels from his not-so frequent showers were thrown over the dresser and bathroom door, the dishes were piling up in the kitchen sink, and he’s almost completely positive he hadn’t brushed his hair in two weeks. 

It’s not that Suga didn’t want to get out of bed and shower every day, brush his teeth every morning, eat at least one meal, and wash clothes every week. He wanted to do all of those things; hell, he wanted nothing more than to be able to keep a habit of taking care of himself. 

But Suga just couldn’t, and he couldn’t tell you why he couldn’t do it either. 

Depression is funny like that. 

So, Asahi, being the gentle giant he is, cleaned the room, washed the dishes, and did the laundry without being asked. Once he was finished with that, Asahi created a checklist. It was just a small thing to start with. 

  * Get out of bed 
  * Check the weather
  * Drink a glass of water
  * Eat a small meal



The simplicity is what ready sold Suga on the idea. Plus, he knew it was something he needed to start. Asahi told him that recovery wasn’t cut and dry, black and white. It might be easy to explain, but it was hard to do. Finding small victories within each day would give Suga a starting point. 

Getting out of bed is a small victory. Checking the weather is a small victory. Drinking a glass of water and putting any portion of food into his body is a small victory. Victories can be found turning on a light or opening curtains; stepping outside to feel the sunshine or the rain; taking a shower and hanging up a towel; waking up in the morning - that’s the biggest victory of all. 

Victories are small and large, and they make all the difference. 

At first, Suga thought the depression should have lasted longer. When he mentioned that to Holly, along with his plan to count small victories, she awarded him with a blinding smile and possibly a tear or two. She said, “Depression differs from person to person. Every situation is different, and everyone is different in general. There’s no time limit on your grieving process.” 

It made Suga feel a little less guilty. 

Once the news spread that Suga was racking up more and more victories every day, Suga received more house guests. Tendou was the first to stop by, hugging Suga tightly to his chest and presenting him with special chocolate sweets he found when he was on vacation in Europe. 

Noya came over two days after Tendou, apologizing profusely for what he’d said about Suga the day he punched Asahi. Suga hushed his complaints, pulling him in for a hug. He thanked Noya for calling him out on his bullshit, because without that, Suga would probably still be stuck in an angry rut. The two of them spent the afternoon in silence, watching a French movie Noya found on Netflix. 

After that, it was like people came out of the woodwork to see Suga. He still slept for most of the day, and he still had trouble sticking to a routine, but it got easier for him to welcome guests into his home and talk with them for a few hours.

One night, once Kiyoko and Tanaka left his house after dinner, Suga realized that he hadn’t seen Daichi in over a month. He calculated the last day he had an episode was after a restless night full of nightmares. 

Waking up with a gasp, Suga opened his eyes to find Daichi laying next to him. Daichi opened his arms and let Suga snuggle into his chest without hesitation. Suga told him about his nightmares, and eventually fell back asleep with Daichi’s fingers tracing shapes in his back, and his honey slow voice talking about universes. It was such a short episode, much shorter than ones he’s had in the past. 

It’s probably better that it was short. It didn’t give him time to wish for more. 

On the year anniversary of Daichi’s accident, Oikawa gathered Iwaizumi, Asahi and Noya, Kuroo and Bokuto, and Tanaka to bring them over to Suga’s house, carrying bags of snacks and booze. They spent the night in the living room, spread out over the couch and the floor, drinking and watching old American movies that made absolutely no sense to anyone. 

It was nice, being surrounded by his friends, his family. Suga listened to everyone talk about Daichi, only nice memories, and let the words soak into his skin like a thick lotion in the summer. He wrote those memories in his locked white room and held onto his stuffed dog while everyone else talked. No one expected him to say anything, which made it easier for Suga to stay in the moment, committing the stories to his memory. 

Now, with everyone diving into their food, Suga can’t help but recede into his mind for a moment, feeling lonely in a room full of his friends. It’s an odd feeling, being surrounded by people but still feeling like the only one in the room. He thinks it’s because the one person that would make this really feel like home isn’t sitting next to him, holding Suga’s hand while he talks to his friends from across the table. 

Maybe it’s because the reason they’re having this dinner is a toast to Daichi. Maybe it’s because every single person can feel the heavy energy around them, but they aren’t saying anything. Or maybe it’s because this is the first time Suga has felt comfortable and stable enough to sit in a crowded room and talk about his husband. Suga can feel the weight of it all press against his sternum. 

Oikawa’s doing a great job keeping him grounded. Shouyou sits next to Suga on his left and stays close enough that their shoulders brush with every move either of them makes. Before, when anyone would sit this close to him, Suga might feel trapped, like he can’t breathe. 

But like this, he only feels safe. 

* * *

After the meal, the large group disperses and heads off into their own groups, talking among themselves. Suga is busy cleaning up his plate, and the plates around him, when Tendou snatches him and leads him outside. Ushijima and Aone are busy discussing their most recent adventures in the cool evening air when Suga arrives. 

“He only ever talks like this around Aone,” Tendou tells him with a wide grin. “It’s like watching a giraffe stand on its hind legs.” 

Suga can’t help but snort. Tendou keeps him close while they watch the two men talk for a while. Eventually, though, Ushijima pulls Suga into a rousing conversation about American movies, and Suga lets himself relax for just a little while. 

Over the course of the next hour or so, Suga makes his way from group to group. Some people want to share stories about Daichi, some want to talk about Suga’s life and how he’s doing, and some -  _ see: Shouyou and his son _ \- only want to toss a volleyball back and forth. The last bit doesn’t surprise Suga in the least. 

But it’s good. It’s a warm, fuzzy feeling that settles across Suga’s shoulders. 

Dinner was obviously a chaotic affair, with Bokuto’s loud voice booming as he spoke about his new job, Tendou talking about his adventures in Europe with Ushijima, Ezume chattering happily with Noya and Tanaka about his school year, and even Yachi, who told Asahi and Iwaizumi her stories about being a grade school teacher. 

As Suga ate his food, he picked up on the conversations going on around him. He realized he missed it, just being around a big group like that. 

It’s a funny thing, grief. It can make even the strongest person yield. Anger may not be something someone struggles with, but grief can change that in the blink of an eye. Depression is different for everyone, but it has the power to change a certain outlook on life. The very way you live your life is flipped like a switch and suddenly, up is down, white is black, and day is night. 

“Hey,” Suga hears from behind him right before someone taps his arm. He turns to find Asahi holding two cups in his hands. “It’s just water,” he adds when Suga glances at the drinks. 

“Thanks,” Suga says, taking the cup. “Where did Noya run off to?” 

Asahi chuckles and shrugs. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” he smiles, taking a sip of his drink. “Have you spoken to Daichi’s police friends yet?” 

Suga sighs and shakes his head. “I haven’t exactly worked up the nerve yet, no.” He glances around the room and sees the two of them talking near the couches in the living room. “I’m getting there.” 

“No one would fault you if you didn’t.” And really, Asahi is a good friend. Suga shrugs his shoulders but doesn’t respond. 

He can see Asahi open his mouth to say more, but a flash of blonde rushes by him. Suga then finds Noya, drink in hand, heading over to the two officers. 

Oh. _ Oh, no _ . This cannot be good. 

“Hey,” Noya says as he nears the two of them. They glance up at his voice and send him a friendly smile. 

“Nishinoya-san,” one of them greets. “It’s good to see you again.” 

Suga can see from the look on Noya’s face that this could possibly be a problem. It’s his ‘I’m about to cause trouble’ face that Suga knows all too well. He elbows Asahi just an extra measure, and his friend watches with a nervous frown.

Noya shakes their hands and makes small talk for a few minutes, talking about the food, asking them what they’re drinking - small talk. Then, Suga feels his stomach drop as Noya steels himself and squares his shoulders. “So, how long did you guys and Daichi work together?” 

“Just over three years,” one of them tells Noya. “He and I went through the academy together and then became partners when we were hired at the same precinct.” 

“I met him later on. They’d been working there for a year before I came along,” the other says. Jesus, Suga really needs to relearn their names. 

“That’s so cool,” Noya grins. “But, just so we’re on the same page here - “

Suga barely manages to catch Tanaka, sitting next to Kuroo and Akaashi in the kitchen, immediately tense. Asahi follows suit next, and it takes Suga exactly two seconds to realize what Noya’s going to say before he actually says it. 

“I know you were Daichi’s friends and all, but ACAB - no offense, of course.” 

There’s roughly a full fifteen seconds of silence. And then, Ennoshita hisses from somewhere in the near vicinity, “ _ Noya _ .” 

The laughter is deafening. Tanaka is doubled over, rolling around on the kitchen floor, crying, Asahi looks pale, Bokuto has fallen down the stairs in a fit of loud, boisterous laughter, and finally, for the first time in a year, Suga feels himself stuck in a state of shock, smiling genuinely before the giggles overtake him and he loses it. 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi, upon hearing the commotion, come running into the living room to find everyone, including Suga, in shambles over Noya’s comment. Oikawa rushes over to Suga but relaxes when he can see the true smile on his face. 

“What the fuck just happened?” He asks. 

Suga tries to contain himself, he really does. He manages it for a few moments before he snorts a loud laugh and falls to pieces all over again, hand reaching out to grip Oikawa’s arm so he doesn’t collapse. 

This moment, this specific moment in time will be ingrained into Suga’s memory for the rest of his life, because even though his heart is broken, even though he’s hurt so many people over the past year, he has a support system that has stood with him through it all. Because even though he’s not the only one who still hurts and grieves over this loss, Suga has a family - one that won’t abandon him. 

And it’s now that Suga’s ready. Ready to pick himself up with the love his family has given him, and get better. Get better for himself, for his friends, and for Daichi. 

Suga is finally ready. 

* * *

  1. **Acceptance - The rest of his life**



The first thing Suga does after the dinner party is look for an apartment. It’s a decision made with Holly’s help, stating the house itself has too many painful memories. She agrees it would be smart, and suggests the option of an apartment rather than another house. (An apartment would be an easy stepping stone.)

So, Suga starts to clean the house, patching holes in the walls, and buying new photo frames, all with the help of whoever wants to assist. And the list of willing participants is long. The process doesn’t take too many weeks since he has so many people helping him, so he’s able to get a realtor to come by and put a price on the house after a month of work. 

He begins packing up the small things first. It starts in the smaller rooms like the bathroom, closets, kitchen, and dining room. Suga sorts through items that he wants to take to his next apartment, and separates the rest into two piles: throw away and storage. Most of the kitchen utensils don’t get packed so Suga can use them to make his meals. The two closets that hold winter coats and various decor items are sorted out and packed away. The bathroom and dining room are organized quickly, since he figures he can eat on plastic plates and wash the utensils he uses, and he keeps a few spare towels so he can shower. 

After the smaller things are sorted, Suga enlists the help of Oikawa and Kuroo to assist in figuring out what big items he should take. Of course, Oikawa brings Iwaizumi, and Kuroo brings Bokuto - but that’s just more muscle to pick up the heavy stuff so Suga can sit back and observe. 

They all decide on taking the bed frame and mattress, the six drawer dresser, the couch and coffee table, entertainment center and television, and a wooden chest that holds Suga’s throw blankets. Suga then calls a moving company to bring a large van, and the rest of the bigger things he’s not keeping are loaded and taken to a second-hand shop where someone else can buy them. He can wait until he has a job to buy anything else he may need in the new apartment. 

Once he has a substantial amount of boxes and totes ready for storage, Suga calls a local storage complex and has the items kept there. When he needs whatever is packed there, he can access his storage unit with a key the owner provided. 

Speaking of which, Shouyou asked once - when he was helping Suga repair the holes in his bedroom walls - what he was planning on doing with Daichi’s things. At first, Suga had a lengthy panic attack and an extra session with Holly. 

But after talking through it with Holly, Suga decides to take a few hoodies, some shirts, and a number of Daichi’s trinkets to the new apartment. The clothes will stay in the closet, mostly because Suga plans on wearing them when he gets nostalgic, and the trinkets will be put somewhere on display. He’s putting Daichi’s awards from the police force and his university diplomas in storage, just so there’s not a chance they can be damaged. 

As Holly told him, Suga has a key to the storage locker, so he can look at Daichi’s things whenever he pleases. 

The next thing Suga does is look for another job. He has the qualifications to apply for six accounting positions in the area, and he even sends his resume to a firm two hours away. 

Getting a job is something he needs to do. He’s spent the last year or so living off the money Daichi saved and his own savings. Suga begins to favor the idea of making his way back into the world as a functioning adult and start making money for himself again. A new job will be a nice change of pace for him. 

Plus, Holly says it’ll let him interact with the outside world, which will also help in the long run. 

One evening, Suga finds himself sitting on the floor in his bedroom, pictures spread out around him in a circle. He’d been busy looking through loose photos to either be put in storage or taken to the new place and lost track of time. Earlier in the day, Suga made a final decision on an apartment and was called by three of the jobs he applied to for an interview. It was a pretty big day, all things considered. 

Tendou hasn’t forgotten about their plans though, and begins ringing the doorbell incessantly.

The sound startles Suga out of his trance and he climbs to his feet, pushing through the tingly feeling that’s shooting down his calves. 

“I’m coming!” he yells when the ringing doesn’t stop. Suga finally makes it to the front door and flings it open, rolling his eyes at Tendou’s smirking face. 

“I’m happy for you, Suga-san, I really am,” Tendou teases. 

“Fuck off,” Suga laughs, letting his friend through the door. “Sorry, I was going through old pictures and didn’t realize what time it was.” 

Tendou waves him off. “The food should be here within the hour,” he says. “Do you need help with anything?” 

For a moment Suga wants to tell Tendou not to worry about it. He can sort through pictures on his own, and if he needs to cry every now and again, no one will be there to judge him. But Holly’s stupid, wise voice floods his ears,  _ they’re just pictures - you’re not alone. Share this with him _ . 

He’s been getting better about sharing these kinds of experiences with people, the experiences he’d rather have alone. This, Suga figures, is another one of those instances. 

“Actually,” Suga breathes, forcing the words out before he can overthink them, “I’m planning on putting some loose photos in an album, and I could use some help.” 

Tendou looks elated, bouncing around with a sudden burst of energy. “Of course!” he bursts. “Lead the way, my friend.” Suga feels himself grin. 

Once Suga’s back in his bedroom, he flips on the overhead lamp to give them both more light. Tendou follows him and plops down on the floor in front of all the pictures, eyes already roaming over the various snapshots of Suga and Daichi’s life. 

“Alright, what kind of album are you wanting to put together?” he wonders as Suga sits down with his legs spread in front of him. 

Suga hums and picks up a few photos from high school. “I’ve been thinking about doing three in total at some point,” he replies. “One for high school, one for college and adult life, and then one for our wedding.” 

“Ooo,” Tendou grins, “that sounds nice. Should we separate them into three piles then?” 

“The wedding pictures are on a flashdrive, so I’ll have to print those off later.” Suga chooses four photos and sets them down in a pile. “Let’s just start with high school and go from there.” 

Tendou gives him a quick nod and gets to work.

The two of them work through the photos slowly but surely. Tendou remains silent, occasionally chuckling at one he finds. He asks a few questions when he finds one he isn’t sure about, but otherwise does his job diligently. 

Suga comes across a chunk of photos from high school. The first one was taken when Suga, Daichi, and Asahi were second-years. It was right after a win, the first one of the season with the three of them on the starting line-up. They were huddled together, the rest of the team gathered around them, sweaty and flushed but so damn happy. Suga remembers how good his hands felt after being able to play, and Asahi and Daichi were beside themselves with excited energy. 

He should really show Asahi at some point. 

The next picture makes him snort a laugh, and he bites his lip as he stares at it. It’s a selfie that Tanaka took at a training camp. The training camp was held at Nekoma high school, and it only lasted four days. Suga hands the picture to Tendou and tells him the story behind it. The two of them dissolve into giggles as he relays the details.

On the last night of the camp, Karasuno had just lost the final practice match and had to run a lap around the gym. The sun had long since set so the night air felt cool against their sweaty skin. Once the lap was finished, most of the team retreated back inside to shower and get ready for bed. Suga followed Daichi inside and gave some of the first-years a pep talk for their good practice. 

Tanaka found Suga before he could jump in the shower, Noya flanking him and looking far too excited. They explained that Yamamoto mentioned something about a place behind the bleachers and a rolled blunt that Kenma, surprisingly, provided. Apparently, it was a tradition. 

Suga, after making sure Daichi and the coaches were already in bed, held off on his shower and followed his teammates out to the designated spot. Yamamoto was already there with Kenma and ready to get started. 

As far as selfies go, it’s not the best quality - but the memories behind it deserve an A+. Seconds before Tanaka snapped the picture, Kenma, very high, looked at Suga, also very high, and asked why he and Daichi weren’t dating yet. Noya was inhaling his next pull, but almost inhaled the entire blunt in his shock. Yamamoto and Tanaka began giggling uncontrollably while Suga was busy having a moment. 

They all look like they’d been shot to the stratosphere, and their eyes are red-rimmed, Noya more than anyone in an effort to stop coughing. But god, it’s such a good picture. 

(Kenma’s comment, however, stuck with Suga for the next two days. During an after school practice, the tipping point came in the form of Daichi wearing a new pair of practice shorts - bright pink and far too tight for his thighs. They finally made their confessions - in front of the entire team, plus the coaches and managers - and worked it out.

Suga took their first selfie together, walking along the streets of the city and set it to his phone background. He sent the picture to Daichi, and blushed like a maiden when he changed his background as well. Daichi took Suga’s hand and laced their fingers together, swinging back and forth while they walked home. 

And then Suga had a thought.

He made sure Daichi was okay with sending that picture to a few people that were awaiting news, which of course was fine. Daichi snorted and handed over his phone, looking over Suga’s shoulder while he sent the selfie to Kuroo and Kenma, and then to Bokuto and Akaashi. They’d be able to show their teams and get the news out.)

Picture number three makes Suga groan, throwing his head back and trying to forget the memories. Tendou leans over and requests the story, so Suga hands the photo to him and begins to talk. 

When the first-years were still having trouble getting along, and Tsukishima was refusing to talk to Tobio or Tanaka, Daichi thought it would be a good idea to have a team bonding day. The third-years sent a mass text to the team requesting they all meet at the gym for an extra practice. (The week prior, Daichi met with coach Ukai to get parent signatures for a field trip, and Takeda planned on driving a bus to their destinations.)

The destination, which was a mistake to begin with, was a laser tag arena. It was supposed to be just the Karasuno team playing, but somehow Bokuto and Kuroo caught wind of it, and were already there and waiting in the parking lot. 

That alone should have sent the entire group home. But the competitive nature that Daichi possesses comes out ten fold around the cat and the owl, and Suga knew their group wouldn’t be leaving without a fight. 

Long story short, Noya got kicked out for doing his ‘rolling thunder’ move in the middle of the course to try and save Tanaka. In that process, he broke the laser gun in half and steamrolled Tanaka, causing Tanaka to hit his head on a light fixture, sending it shattering to the floor. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Suga whines as he looks at the next picture. It was taken on the day the third-years graduated and it never fails to make Suga emotional. 

“You okay?” Tendou asks him, because he’s the very best friend. 

Suga lets out a sad chuckle, leaning his head back and blinking the tears away quickly. “I’m fine, it’s just - “ he clears his throat. “That was the day we graduated high school.” 

Tendou crawls across the carpet to sit beside Suga, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a cuddle. “If you have to cry, just cry. It’ll be our little secret.” 

And really, Suga doesn’t tell Tendou how much he appreciates him. He should be saying it over and over for the rest of his life. But until then, he nods and breathes heavily, coughing to mask the sob that’s trying to come out. 

Because it’s hard for Suga to make the active decision to include his friends in his grieving. It’s not an easy task, what with not knowing how he’s going to react to stories or to comments. There’s even the chance he could have an episode, and they all know what that’s like. The chances of that though are extremely slim now that Suga has been working a bit harder with his mental health - but the point still stands. 

Suga leans his head on Tendou’s shoulder and sniffles through a laugh, wiping his eyes. “Daichi’s parents were a mess that day,” he begins. “Asahi’s mom came, too, mostly to meet Noya, but she still came.” 

Tendou hums. “Did your dad show up?” 

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Suga says snidely, “Nope. No phone calls, no texts, no emails.” 

“I’m sorry you don’t have a better relationship,” Tendou mumbles. He kisses the top of Suga’s head. “I bet Daichi’s parents were all over you.” 

“Oh my god, it was awful,” Suga laughs. He wipes his eyes again to rid his face of tears, the fucking traitors. “Daichi had obviously told his family that my dad wasn’t really around all that much, so they adopted me for the day.” 

Suga loves Daichi’s parents in general. But he loves them a little more for making him feel like he had a family on graduation day. 

Once pictures had been taken and all the parents had met one another, Suga and Daichi took Asahi and his mom on a tour of the campus, stopping by the gym, where they knew Ukai would be holding a party. There were snacks and drinks and a few bigger meals that Ukai and Takeda prepared, with tables and chairs set up if someone wanted to sit down and eat. 

That day is always such a nice memory for Suga because it reminds him of beginning his future with Daichi, his future career, heading off to college, and becoming an adult. It was one of those moments where Suga can look back and think,  _ yes, that was the beginning of the rest of my life _ . 

Tendou manages to get the high school piles separated first. He takes the ones that Suga saved and adds them to his pile. Then, he takes them to the dresser, finding a stray elastic band to hold them together until Suga can put them in an album. 

Finally moving onto college and adult life, Suga prepares himself for more tears. He knows there are some photos in these piles that would get him emotional, so he has to steel himself before grabbing for more. 

And of course, the very first photo he picks up gets him to start crying again. 

It’s a picture that Kuroo actually captured. At the time, Suga and Daichi had just moved into a shared apartment with Bokuto and Kuroo for the last two years of college. They all did their share of staying in the dorms for the first year, so they could move into their own place if they could afford it. 

Suga started working at the university library as an extra credit and a part-time job. Since Daichi went to the police academy right after high school, he was still in school but working part-time at the precinct he wanted to stay at, doing office chores and being a general helper to everyone else. Kuroo snagged a job at a hotel where he generally worked the afternoon shift at the front desk, and then four hours on Saturday for maintenance. Bokuto had already been working at a clothing store in the mall and was saving up his money, so he was good to go whenever they found something. 

One night, Suga came home to find the entire living room lit up with fairy lights that were strung along the ceiling, the top of the television, and around the windows. Daichi was sitting on the couch doing homework, and laughed when he turned and saw Suga’s face. 

“Bokuto said he wanted this room to look more lively, since it’s the living room.” 

Suga shook his head with a fond smile. It was definitely something that screamed Bokuto. 

“Hey, do you want to make this really cliche and turn on some music we can dance to?” Suga asked, eyeing Daichi excitedly. Daichi didn’t hesitate in jumping off the couch, pushing his homework aside, and getting his phone hooked up to the bluetooth speaker. 

He turned on Spotify, and an American song began playing, something out of the vampire movie series. Suga slipped off his shoes and jacket and huddled into Daichi’s chest, letting the music sway him. Every so often, Daichi would hum against his ear, sending shivers down Suga’s body as he grinned against Daichi’s neck. When the song changed, Suga recognized it as one from his childhood.

And it wasn’t the lights, or the music, or the dancing that made that moment special. It was the conversations the pair had while they danced to the slow song. Daichi mentioned wanting to dance to that song at their wedding when they got around to it. At that point, getting married hadn’t come up many times, but getting engaged did. 

So, as Daichi twirled Suga around the room, giggling through his emotions, he talked about the wedding, having children, moving in together - the entire lot. Back then, Suga remembers getting emotional thinking about their future together and what it might bring. He remembers telling Daichi he wanted fairy lights hung up somewhere in the venue, and that song playing for their first dance. 

Suga found out the next morning that Kuroo had been snapping photos of the two dancing and laughing and trying not to get too emotional. Before printing the various pictures off for physical copies, Suga used one of the pictures for his phone and laptop background. 

“Wait, was this when you lived with them?” Tendou asks, holding up a picture of Bokuto and Kuroo wrestling on the carpet. 

Suga gasps and takes the picture in his fingers. “Oh my god, this was after Kuroo accidentally flirted with our pizza delivery person.” 

Tendou barks a laugh, “He hit on some guy?” 

“No!” Suga laughs. “It was a girl!” 

When the group first moved into their apartment, it was a unanimous decision to call in pizza for dinner. No one was ready to dirty up dishes or the stove, so pizza was the best option. 

Kuroo went to the door to pay when it arrived, but forgot he ordered six pizzas for everyone. So, being a gentleman and still not being able to communicate sometimes, Kuroo invited the delivery girl inside so he could sign the receipt and she could put the hot boxes on the table. 

Suga remembers watching from the couch, the way the girl’s face lit up when Kuroo would say anything. Glancing over at Bokuto, Suga saw just how much the boyfriend enjoyed that. 

Before the girl left, she pulled a pen out of her pocket and yanked Kuroo’s arm towards her, writing her number down on his forearm. Because he wasn’t sure what just happened, Kuroo spluttered for a moment while the girl winked at him and left the apartment. 

“Bo didn’t talk to Kuroo for at least six hours,” Suga giggles, leaning back against Tendou. “The look on his face was priceless, Tendou.” 

Tendou is able to calm himself down from his own laughter when he points to the picture again. “Why were they wrestling?” 

Suga snorts and sighs, happily, “That was the only way Kuroo could get him to break.” He rubs his thumb over the two of them and smiles. “He tackled him off the back of the couch and actually broke Bokuto’s toe in the process.”

Tendou chuckles and leans over and grabs a few more piles to sort through while Suga puts the ones he’s found into a keep pile. He gets back to it, keeping an eye on the time so the delivery person isn’t outside long. 

“Tendou, look at this,” Suga gasps, handing over two pictures. The photos are of a trip Suga took with Akaashi, Tendou, and Oikawa. The four of them went to Oregon the year after they all graduated from university as a treat to themselves. 

Originally, it was supposed to be a vacation where they did some exploring, maybe spend some time in Portland or Seattle. With classes finally ending and the group receiving their diplomas, Suga suggested taking the trip before they started new jobs and settled into a routine. 

Suga and Akaashi wanted to see the beaches in Ecola State Park over anything else. The pictures they found on the internet were so incredibly beautiful and hypnotising. Suga had never seen anything like it before. It was like walking through a dream, with dramatic fog in the mountains and along the waves - something he’d see in a movie. 

“Do you remember the hike in Ecola?” he asks Tendou. 

Tendou takes a moment to think, and then throws his head back and laughs. “Oikawa was so awful that day.”

And really, Suga can’t blame his friend for what happened. There was a 7-mile hike to even get to the beaches they wanted to see. The trails took them to lighthouses, isolated beaches, and even something called Haystack Rock. Suga and Akaashi knew what they were getting into, and warned the other two what the hike might entail. 

No one really accounted for getting lost, though. 

In the end, Tendou took them on a wrong trail, which added two extra hours to their hike. When Oikawa realized what happened, he  _ screeched _ at the group for twenty minutes, and then made a long-distance call to Japan, where he cried to Iwaizumi. Meanwhile, Suga and Tendou laughed, and Akaashi spent the time looking at a map to guide them to the correct trail, ignoring Oikawa’s whining.

“We should go again someday,” Tendou tells Suga, smiling down at the pictures. “We could take Toshi and Aone, or maybe Iwaizumi. They’re the only ones I don’t think would cry about hiking seven miles.” Suga nods but doesn’t trust his voice enough to reply. 

When the food finally arrives, Tendou jumps up from the floor and heads to the door, leaving Suga amongst the piles of pictures. He thinks, eyes flickering over a group selfie taken a few years ago, that this day, this long, emotional day, would be best lived with the rest of his friends with him. They’d probably love to see these pictures, and would be more than happy to help choose options for the photo albums. 

Suga stands, pulling his phone from his pocket, and sending out a mass text to a large group.  _ ‘Need help sorting through some old pictures - dinner at mine? Bring your own food’ _

As he makes his way through his house and into the kitchen, Suga’s phone buzzes with multiple messages. He looks at his phone, grinning when almost everyone agrees to bring their own dinner and be over as soon as possible. 

“Hey, more people are coming over,” he tells Tendou. 

“More as in a few, or more as in everyone?” 

Suga chuckles and shrugs, showing Tendou his phone. “Looks like it’ll be almost everyone.” 

Tendou rolls his eyes with a sigh. “They better bring their own food - I’m not paying for twenty people.” 

It takes no longer than an hour for everyone to arrive, lugging in bags of take-out and bottles of sake and soda. Suga and Tendou haven’t eaten yet, so while they reheat their food, the rest of the group takes their food and drinks and migrates to the living room. 

Everyone gathers here like they did on the anniversary, taking up places on the couch and the floor. Pictures are being passed around and kept away from food, and happy laughter is shared with certain stories to match the photos. The pictures from high school, graduation day, the training camp, and the various others Suga found are fawned over with emotional wails -  _ see: Oikawa Tooru _ \- while the group agonizes over their youth, and lack thereof. Bokuto even holds little Ezume in his lap and tells him stories about his uncle Daichi.

At some point, Kuroo connects his phone to the bluetooth speakers above the television and soft music lights up the room. 

This time, with everyone around him, Suga is laughing and engaging in conversation while he eats. It’s a warm feeling, this weight in Suga’s chest. Soon, he’ll move into his new apartment, start a new job, and begin the rest of his life. Surrounded by this group of people gives Suga a reason to feel excited about his future. He’s excited for what the rest of his life will bring him, what new adventures he’ll find for himself. 

This time, Suga knows that if he has a bad day where his ribs feel too constricting, and his tears stain his cheeks like a white-hot branding iron, he has a group of people he can call. He has a beautiful family he can reach out to for help and assistance. He can exist in this life, with them. 

Because, really, it is truly a beautiful thing, existing in this life with his friends. 

It was so rare that he had this life with Daichi and their little infinities. 

And one day, Suga hopes he will be able to experience the other universes; experience the stories Daichi told him about; he hopes he’ll be able to relive more infinities with Daichi by his side. 

Like Daichi said before, our souls are not confined to this three-dimensional, earthly existence, but life carries on endlessly.


End file.
